


You’ve Yet to Have Your Finest Hour

by Polaris



Series: These Are the Days of Our Lives [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Crowley plays fast and loose with physics and also genitals, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Fluff and Smut, Food Metaphors, Kink Negotiation, Light D/s, M/M, Other, Public Blow Jobs, Switching, the real otp here is Aziraphale/food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 16:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polaris/pseuds/Polaris
Summary: Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed like that for a good minute before huffing out a breath. “We’ve been living together for six months,” he finally said.“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed cautiously.“I honestly thought you weren’t interested.”“I thoughtyouweren’t!”“My God,” said Crowley in a tone of absolute disgust, “we are so fucking stupid, aren’t we?”Aziraphale wisely kept his mouth shut.





	You’ve Yet to Have Your Finest Hour

The perfect summer during which the world nearly ended had come to a close. Lower Tadfield was covered in a blanket of snow which was the perfect consistency for snow forts, as it was every year. Somewhere in Malibu, Newton Pulsifer had just taken down the Device family’s home security system by touching the door. And in London Soho, Aziraphale was gazing in horror at a first edition of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ that an aspiring collector had brought into his shop for appraisal.

“Well,” he said diplomatically, “it is in pristine condition...”

The woman nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes. It was my gran’s. Caused quite a stir at the nursing home, this one.”

Aziraphale forced a smile. The appraisal services had been Crowley’s idea, since it allowed him the opportunity to buy books without the subsequent pressure to sell them. He had not, however, been prepared to meet with such trash as this book coming through his door. He recalled atrocious prose and something, vaguely, about an “inner goddess” that suggested the protagonist ought to consult a mental health professional. “I imagine it did,” he granted. “Perhaps you ought to consult a second opinion, as contemporary—” he fought to keep a grimace off his face as he said the word— “_literature_ isn’t really my specialty.”

The woman, a pasty specimen in her sixties with bottle dyed hair precisely two shades too blonde to be natural and an ostentatious designer bag, gave him a bright smile. “Don’t need one. I’m told you’re the best, Mr. Fell. If you say it’s pristine, that’s all I need to hear. Lovely day to you!”

He watched her tuck the book into her oversized bag and breeze out the door, letting his smile twist into the disgusted expression he’d been carefully concealing. 

“I’ve never seen you look at a book like that, angel.” Crowley’s voice didn’t startle Aziraphale. Not since he’d sold his flat and taken up permanent residence here in the shop. They’d been happily living in one another’s pockets for the last six months, undisturbed by Heaven, Hell, or anyone besides irritating customers who managed to catch Aziraphale while the shop was open.

“That’s because you’ve never read that one,” said Aziraphale primly. “I have standards, Crowley.” He went to the door and closed up. That was quite enough for one day.

“You know I don’t read books. What’s it about, anyway?” Aziraphale turned back to see Crowley draped half over the counter, grinning at the prospect of a debate. “Can’t be so bad as all that, can it?”

“It was poorly written and badly researched,” Aziraphale told him.

Crowley’s brows scrunched up. “Hang on, wasn’t it a film? It was, wasn’t it? They made sequels.”

“I believe it was.” Aziraphale bustled past him, snapping his fingers to light a fire in the fireplace. “You let that go out, my dear.”

“Whoops.” Crowley barely glanced at it. “So if it was so bad, why’d they go and make three different films from it?”

“I can’t possibly fathom a guess,” Aziraphale sniffed.

“Snob,” Crowley told him affectionately. “You haven’t liked popular culture since the nineteenth century.”

“Salacious literature was actually titillating in the nineteenth century,” Aziraphale said sourly.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “You read salacious literature in the nineteenth century?”

He needn’t look so gleeful about it. “I was a member of the Hundred Guineas Club in the 1880s,” Aziraphale told him, sniffing again. “It’s not as though I’m naive, Crowley.”

“I don’t know what that means, angel. I was asleep for that bit.” Crowley, predictably, had begun to drift closer to the fire. 

“I quite recall.” Aziraphale put the kettle on. Crowley always had been prone to chills, and honestly, he could do with a nice cup of tea. There was a particularly fragrant Assam that he’d picked up last week that would do very well.

Sure enough, when he turned back to the fire with two steaming cups in hand, he found Crowley slouched elegantly on the sofa, his long legs stretched toward the fire.

As per usual, a rather warm and possessive feeling rose in his chest at the sight of his very own serpent so relaxed in his domain. It pleased Aziraphale on every level to have Crowley here with him, passing the chilly nights in front of his fire. 

“Here you are, my dear,” he said with a beaming smile, and handed Crowley the tea. “Just as you like it.”

“Remembered the whisky, have you?” Crowley’s fingers brushed his as he took the cup. “Too kind, angel.”

Aziraphale settled next to him, wiggling until he was comfortable. “It’s an Indian whisky,” he said. “Came very highly recommended by the sommelier at that lovely little shop we found in Camden.”

Crowley took a sip. “‘S good,” he murmured, doing a fair bit of wiggling himself until he’d managed to press himself all along Aziraphale’s side. 

Aziraphale, pleased, raised his cup and inhaled the delicate scent. He did love tea, and the first sip had him sighing in delight at the rich, golden flavor of it. Truly a spectacular variety; he would have to go back and order more.

“_Somebody_ must have thought it was titillating,” said Crowley out of nowhere, breaking the long and comfortable silence they’d been enjoying.

Only it wasn’t completely out of nowhere, was it? Aziraphale lowered his cup. “I expect that humans, with their infinite variety, are able to find all sorts of things titillating,” he replied. “One can never be sure what they’ll think up next.”

“So what’s it actually about? You never said.”

“It’s about a naive young virgin who becomes the mistress of a mysterious billionaire with exotic tastes.” Aziraphale took another sip of his tea, pulled a face, and miracled it hot again. 

Crowley’s sunglasses slipped down enough to show his confusion. “Isn’t that what they’re all about?” he asked blankly.

Aziraphale sighed. “Not all. Some of them involve kidnapping, or solitary pursuits, or adultery.”

“That’s a sin, angel.” Crowley grinned, a slow spreading thing that lit up his whole face. “How did you manage to keep all that hidden from the head office for two hundred years?”

“It was rather longer than that,” huffed Aziraphale, slightly miffed by the surprise in Crowley’s tone. The delight, on the other hand, was more interesting. “I’m surprised you haven’t read any of them yourself. De Sade would have been very much appreciated by Hell, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley blanched. “Never could stomach that one,” he mumbled. “Had to attend his trial, you know. Got drunk after.”

Aziraphale reached out to rest a comforting hand on Crowley’s knee. He remembered too well the sorts of things described by the Marquis; after all, he owned first editions of all the man’s works. “I believe they were meant to be allegorical.”

“They weren’t,” said Crowley shortly. “Honestly, I’ve been saying it for millennia. They don’t need us to show them good or evil. They do it far better than we can all on their own.”

“Yes, well, you’ll notice I’ve been agreeing with you for quite some time now. This _Fifty Shades_ wasn’t nearly as extreme as all that. Bit of slap and tickle, and of course true love sorted it all out in the end.”

Crowley snorted into his teacup. “True love? There’s a laugh. Since when did true love ever change anyone’s sexual peccadilloes?”

Aziraphale let himself giggle. “I did say it was terrible. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have suspected your hand in the whole phenomena, you know.”

“Oh?” Crowley looked rather chuffed.

“Oh yes. Absolute drivel becomes so wildly popular that book publishers and literary scholars must now take it seriously? Seemed rather your type of thing.” Aziraphale took a delicate sip of tea. “We need biscuits.”

Crowley already had a tin in his hands. He opened the lid and held out a shortbread.

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale took it and closed his eyes with pleasure as it crumbled on his tongue. “Mm, these are wonderful.”

“We ought to try the lemon ones,” Crowley remarked thoughtfully.

Aziraphale nodded. “Perhaps we’ll go tomorrow,” he said. “Maybe after lunch?”

“After lunch,” Crowley agreed, sweeping his arm out in a rather grand gesture that ended with it stretched along the back of the sofa with his fingers brushing Aziraphale’s collar. It was delightfully ticklish. “Where should we go?”

“What would you say to sushi?” Aziraphale leaned back, just slightly, into the touch. He rather loved the warmth of Crowley’s fingertips and the way they sometimes brushed his skin.

“Anything you like, angel,” Crowley murmured, and the timbre of his voice, soft and low and so close to Aziraphale’s ear that his breath puffed against the skin, made Aziraphale shiver pleasantly. Dear old Crowley, always so amenable. 

—

And that would have been the end of it, except for what happened later upstairs as they were getting ready for bed. They slept together now—quite literally, when Aziraphale felt the urge to sleep at all—had done ever since they’d gone back to Crowley’s old flat after the world didn’t end. Closing one’s eyes and drifting off with the long, gangly limbs of the being you loved best wrapped around you like a—well, like a snake—was one of life’s great pleasures, if you asked Aziraphale. Not so different from biting into a ripe peach, or a perfectly cooked sea scallop.

“What do you suppose they get out of it?” Crowley mused, setting down the plant mister. “Bossing someone else around while they’re starkers?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, frowning at him as he adjusted his cap. “What do you get out of terrorizing your plants?”

Crowley’s response was to pick up the plant mister again and spray him.

“Not the pillows!” he cried, leaping up. “Give that over, you beast!”

Crowley laughed, holding the plant mister out of his reach, but he gave it up with a yelp when Aziraphale pinched his side. “That’s not even a little like the plants, angel,” he said, rubbing his side while Aziraphale set the plant mister a safe distance from the bed and wished the plants sweet dreams. “You spoil them terribly, you know. They’re not even afraid of me anymore.”

“Good,” said Aziraphale with a sniff. “They’re wonderful and they ought to know it.”

“They ought to know what’s in store for them if they get too comfortable,” muttered Crowley darkly.

Aziraphale smirked. “Perhaps the danger excites them,” he said mischievously. “Had that ever occurred to you?”

From the gobsmacked look on Crowley’s face, it hadn’t. Aziraphale patted his cheek and plucked his glasses off his face. “You must take care of these, Crowley. Remember how you fell asleep in your last pair.”

“Right.” Crowley stared as Aziraphale set them neatly on the bedside table. “Danger. Responsible. Yeah.”

That made Aziraphale pause. “Are you quite alright, my dear?” he asked gently.

“Fine. Yeah.” Crowley shook himself and got into bed. “Just tickety boo.”

“I wish you’d stop making fun of me for that,” said Aziraphale. “Loads of people say tickety boo.”

“No, angel. No one else says that.”

“Oh, hush.” Aziraphale climbed into bed. “Are you sure you’ll be warm enough, Crowley? I’ve another blanket if you like.”

“I’m fine.” As soon as Aziraphale’s head hit the (miraculously dry) pillow, Crowley was winding around him. A cold foot brushed his ankle and made him jump. “Sorry,” Crowley mumbled, tucking his face into Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Quite alright,” Aziraphale said soothingly, wrapping his own arms around Crowley and stroking up and down his long back. He turned off the light, closing his eyes against the velvety darkness that enveloped the room.

It was quiet for a long, peaceful time, just Crowley’s hot breath on his throat and the rustle of the sheets as they negotiated positions, when Crowley said, abruptly, “only they have to get something out of it, right?”

Aziraphale sighed. “Well, of course, or they wouldn’t keep doing it in defiance of laws and common propriety.”

“So what do you think it is?” Crowley’s voice seemed so much nearer in the dark. It also sounded rather more timid than usual.

“At a guess,” Aziraphale said cautiously, “I would say the notion that someone would willingly give up control is a heady thing.” This was not, strictly speaking, true, in that it was not a guess. Aziraphale had passed some very enjoyable afternoons with several very pleasant gentlemen at his club in the 1880s, and they had not all been spent learning the gavotte.

“Huh,” said Crowley. “And the ones who let someone else boss them about. You think they like it too?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was prepared to answer this line of inquiry. He was most definitely perplexed as to why such a topic had captured Crowley’s imagination after so many thousands of years on Earth. “I think so, yes.”

Crowley’s nose brushed Aziraphale’s skin, lightly enough to make him shudder. A moment later, another blanket had appeared on the bed, heavy and soft, and Crowley was muttering, “honestly, angel, if you’re cold just say so.”

And the light, as they say, dawned.

—

The fact that he’d never put it together before now was quite understandable, really. Naturally Crowley thought the entire enterprise was built on pain. Hell had, he’d gathered from his brief journey down there, a very limited imagination when it came to both control and motivation. Heaven was, if anything, worse, and as Crowley was fond of pointing out, humans were more depraved than both of them put together. He briefly recalled Rome, and Crowley’s distaste anytime Caligula’s name came up. Yes, it stood to reason that before the Arrangement his temptations had led him to witness some rather unpleasant activities that would put him off the whole topic.

Although, considering all the centuries that they’d spent among humans, and those _hips,_ it seemed unbelievable that Crowley had managed to avoid all the nicer aspects of—oh, best to just call it what it was—kink. It wasn’t all _120 Days of Sodom,_ after all. In fact, it wasn’t even a little like that. There were rules. Agreements by all parties. It was wonderfully organized, which appealed to Aziraphale’s sense of morality.

But that didn’t change the fact that Crowley asking _him_ about kink made Aziraphale’s palms sweat. It was one thing to enjoy a dalliance with a human every few hundred years, but Crowley...

Crowley had always been different.

They were on their own side now; Heaven and Hell hadn’t tried to contact them again since the thwarted Apocalypse, and while Adam Young was now happily throwing snowballs at some boy named Greasy Johnson in Tadfield, he was still mortal, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure how long the peace would last once he died. It would be silly, he thought, compromising their friendship now.

But was it merely friendship? Certainly Newton and Anathema had treated them as a couple before they’d taken off for America, and neither he nor Crowley had discouraged it. Perhaps they should have discussed this rather than just moving in together and carrying on as though nothing had changed. Because it was becoming painfully obvious to Aziraphale that they had changed, quite a lot, without either of them noticing. 

It wasn’t as though he was unaware that he loved Crowley; that was well established. Rather, it was a matter of how to define that love, and that was something Aziraphale had never taken the time to do. It hadn’t seemed necessary before. 

Aziraphale glanced at him as they ambled side by side down the street. Crowley still made him feel that little flutter of excitement every time he turned around and saw him there, long and dark and welcome. Habit, he supposed, but what a lovely one. 

And if he took a moment—just a one—to imagine Crowley slinking up to him with that walk, and those eyes, to pluck a book from his hands and whisper in that low, drawling voice about how it was time for another sort of amusement, angel, well....

“You’re going to wrinkle it if you keep tugging like that,” said Crowley.

“Hm?” Aziraphale blinked rapidly, and then realized he had indeed been tugging at his collar. Well. That answered that.

“Best stop, or I’ll have to listen to you complaining the whole rest of the day.” Crowley sounded amused. “Sushi didn’t go down wrong, did it?”

Aziraphale eyed him, thinking of the blanket last night. “You would fix it for me,” he said with a smile.

Crowley snorted. “Of course I would.”

The warm glow Aziraphale felt at that wasn’t quite as innocent as it once was. But that was quickly shoved to the back of his mind as Crowley opened the door to the bakery and the most scrumptious scent wafted toward him. 

“Oh, they’ve made some with cardamom!” he breathed, staring rapturously into the case where biscuits, pastries, and other little sugary delights were arranged in the most appealing fashion. “Oh, Crowley, don’t they look lovely?”

“We’re looking at a large box,” Crowley told the shopkeeper, who was watching Aziraphale with the gleeful look of someone about to make a great deal of money. “Go on, angel, pick what you like. My treat.”

“You’re ever so good to me,” Aziraphale said happily, and began to dither.

Forty-five minutes later, they stepped out of the shop with two large boxes and steaming cups of cocoa delicately spiced with cinnamon and orange peel. Aziraphale slipped his arm through Crowley’s and smiled as Crowley grumbled about having to hold both boxes on the walk home.

“Thank you, my dear,” he told Crowley softly. “I’m really quite pleased with you.”

Crowley stiffened, but only for a moment; if Aziraphale hadn’t had a hand on his arm, he’d have missed it. He wondered how many other moments he’d missed. “Don’t mention it, angel,” Crowley muttered, clearing his throat.

Aziraphale hid a smile. “Shall I start the fire when we get home?” he asked kindly; Crowley was plastered to his side again as they walked, shoulders hunched against the chilly wind that whipped around corners.

Crowley grunted in response, but in an affirmative way. Aziraphale had, over the course of centuries, catalogued all of Crowley’s odd noises as neatly as he’d catalogued his books in the shop. Until last night, he’d rather thought he knew them all.

Now, though...

“Buck up, angel. We’ll be home soon,” said Crowley. “Want my chocolate? It’s still hot.”

Oh, that was embarrassing. Aziraphale took it, if only to cover the fact that his shivering had not, in fact, been due to the cold. Besides, it really was delicious.

When they did make it back to the shop, Aziraphale started the fire as soon as he’d hung up his coat and scarf on the hook. Crowley, predictable creature, went straight to the sofa. That was fine, as it gave Aziraphale an excuse to sneak a clandestine biscuit without any eye rolling.

He discreetly brushed the crumbs off his waistcoat, glancing over his shoulder at Crowley. The firelight lit his face in warm golden tones, flickering delicately over his well-loved features, and Aziraphale was struck, suddenly and with great force, by how very _beautiful_ he was. 

He turned back to the tea station, feeling very warm under his collar. Bit embarrassing, to have it hit him like this now.

“Crowley?” he called softly, seized by a wild, fluttering sort of elation, “would you do something for me if I asked you?”

“Hm?” Aziraphale couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Crowley. Instead he fussed with the sugar lumps for something to do. Crowley sounded politely puzzled. “Of course, angel. Anything you like.”

Aziraphale swallowed. “I’d like you to answer a question for me.”

“Alright.” Crowley’s tone was dropping rapidly from puzzlement to full on confusion. 

“What do you get out of it?”

Silence. Aziraphale’s fingers froze on the tea tray as he held his breath, waiting. For long, agonizing moments, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

Then Crowley started making noises, and Aziraphale bit his lip because those were the sorts of noises that Crowley made when his brain had stopped and the restart was taking a bit longer than it ought. “Angel,” Crowley finally managed, “you’re not saying—”

“I rather am,” Aziraphale said before he lost his nerve. He squared his shoulders and turned back toward Crowley. “It isn’t all blood and pain, Crowley,” he said softly. “Sometimes it can even be nice.”

Crowley gawped at him. “I didn’t know you’d actually _done it!_” he sputtered.

“Well, of course I’ve done it! I told you, during the 1880s!” Aziraphale felt himself flushing and spared a moment to be annoyed at his body. 

“And I told you, I was asleep for that decade! How was I supposed to recognize you name dropping your bloody sex club?” Crowley demanded.

“It wasn’t a _sex club!_” snapped Aziraphale, although it most certainly was. “It was advertised as a discreet gentlemen’s club for those with discerning tastes!”

“Yeah, that’s how sex clubs advertise!” Crowley shouted, throwing up his arms. “How on _Earth_ do you manage to be so clever and so stupid at the same time?”

“Yes, yes, that’s a bit rich coming from the man who lost the Antichrist,” Aziraphale muttered.

“Oh, will you shut up about that? I’m not going around gloating about saving you from the Terror, am I?” Crowley was scowling, possibly to cover the flush that sat high on his cheeks.

“And how would _you_ know how sex clubs advertise anyway?” Aziraphale felt the need to change the subject.

“Because I’ve ruddy gone to them!” Crowley pushed to his feet and stalked around the sofa. “It was the swinging sixties, angel, and—” he stopped himself and went very still, mouth snapping shut.

“And what?” Aziraphale barely dared to breathe.

Crowley pulled his glasses off. “And I went too fast for you,” he muttered, shoulders slumping. He bowed his head.

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. If asked, he’d have said he felt rather faint. “Crowley...”

“Too fast. Too bloody fast after six thousand years,” Crowley shook his head. “And now I learn you’d been having sadomasochistic relations with spoiled second sons of wealthy families eighty years before.”

“It was rather a different thing,” Aziraphale said faintly. “You were so much more—”

“What, angel?” Crowley snapped.

“—Important,” Aziraphale finished.

That shut Crowley up.

“I love you,” said Aziraphale ardently. “Surely you know how I love you.”

Crowley looked down, shuffling his feet like a little boy. “Of course I do,” he mumbled. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well then, you can understand why, in light of that and with our respective—that is to say _former_ respective sides being what they were—and—”

“Aziraphale, please shut up,” groaned Crowley, rubbing the bridge of his nose as though he were getting a headache. 

“Sorry,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. He stayed like that for a good minute before huffing out a breath. “We’ve been living together for six months,” he finally said.

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed cautiously.

“I honestly thought you weren’t interested.”

“I thought _you_ weren’t!”

“My God,” said Crowley in a tone of absolute disgust, “we are so fucking stupid, aren’t we?”

Aziraphale wisely kept his mouth shut.

It took a moment, but Crowley started to chuckle. It was a low, bitter thing at first, but as he laughed harder, it gained some genuine mirth.

After some minutes of this, Aziraphale allowed himself to smile too, and reached out a hand to steady Crowley, who was leaning on the sofa for support. “I am glad we’ve straightened that out,” he said warmly.

Crowley snorted loudly. “Straightened it out. Have we really, angel?” He gave Aziraphale a sly, slinky sort of grin from under his hair (long again, though not the cascading waves he’d worn in Mesopotamia that Aziraphale had guiltily imagined running his fingers through). “What have we established, after all? I love you and you love me, and that’s well and good, but we knew that this morning, didn’t we?”

Aziraphale smiled. “Tell me again,” he said softly.

Crowley stopped smiling. Instead, the look on his face shifted into something frighteningly intense. “I love you.”

Aziraphale lifted a hand to Crowley’s cheek, caressing the prominent cheekbone hidden under soft skin. “Again.”

Crowley shuddered, yellow eyes sliding shut as he leaned into the caress like a touch-starved cat. “I love you, angel.”

“Again.” Aziraphale’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed. “I love you.”

Aziraphale let his thumb trace across Crowley’s lower lip, mesmerized (and not for the first time) by the thin, sensual shape of it. “I think I would rather like to kiss you,” he murmured. 

Crowley nodded, eyes still closed. “Yeah, okay,” he said. He looked like he needed to sit down.

Aziraphale decided to help the poor chap. He slid his hand into Crowley’s hair, got a good handful, and tugged, ever so gently. “I would hate to see you fall over, dearest,” he said softly. “Only kneel down, and I’ll kiss you to your heart’s content.”

And oh, Crowley went without a thought, sliding to his knees in a fluid motion that Aziraphale would be thinking about for decades and arching his neck prettily as Aziraphale kept hold of his hair. “Angel,” he whispered shakily as he tipped his face up. Offering his mouth.

“I want to drink your lips like the finest wine,” Aziraphale murmured, and bent to kiss him.

Crowley sighed into his mouth, going wonderfully pliant and letting Aziraphale do as he pleased. Which, if you must know, involved just a bit of tongue. And Crowley liked that, rather a lot if the loud, wanton moan he let out was any indication.

He was like the sweetest, most forbidden fruit (Aziraphale acknowledged he was being maudlin, but he decided it was allowed; after all, he’d wanted Crowley for thousands of years), and Aziraphale wondered how humans ever tired of their lovers if kissing one’s beloved was always like this. Crowley’s lips parted eagerly for his tongue, greedy for more kisses. There was nothing to do but indulge him. He deserved to be utterly ruined for anyone but Aziraphale.

They kissed until Aziraphale’s lips were numb, until Crowley’s were bitten and red, as plump and shiny as ripe berries, until Aziraphale fell to his knees before Crowley and wrapped both arms around him just to feel him close. They kissed one another on their mouths, noses, cheeks and foreheads, and Aziraphale rather thought he could carry on like this happily enough for the rest of forever.

“Why....why’s the biscuit box open?” asked Crowley in a dazed sort of voice.

“Oh no!” Aziraphale leapt to his feet. “Oh, I completely forgot to close it! Do you think they’ll have gone stale already?”

Crowley was still on his knees, mouth hanging open with indignant shock at being so rudely abandoned. “Angel, it’s only been—” he stopped and glanced at the clock. “Four hours.”

“We’ve been kissing for four hours?” Aziraphale looked at the clock too, blinking stupidly. “Well, that felt like nothing at all! Can you believe it’s time for supper already?”

“You want to go eat supper now?” Crowley demanded.

Aziraphale paused. “Don’t you?”

“No! I was perfectly happy doing what we were doing!” When Aziraphale took a better look at Crowley, he froze. Crowley looked _debauched,_ all mussed hair and flushed cheeks and red lips, his collar askew and his eyes completely yellow. Oh, he was too lovely.

Aziraphale dithered, and finally decided to confess. “I’m not entirely sure we ought to do that right away,” he admitted.

“You what?” Crowley’s eyebrows did something wriggly to express his dismay.

Right. Aziraphale took a deep, calming breath. “I mean, before we go any further with this we need to talk about it,” he said. “You’re ever so important to me, my dear, and if this is to be forever then we ought to do it properly.”

“Properly?” Crowley sputtered. “Come back here this instant and kiss me again, you menace!”

Now that was very flattering. Still, let it not be said that Aziraphale didn’t have steel in his spine. “Crowley,” he said firmly, “we are going to discuss this. Preferably over canapés at the Ritz, because our first kiss is rather worth celebrating, wouldn’t you say?”

Crowley glowered at him. The effect was rather ruined by his pouty lips.

Aziraphale huffed. “We have forever,” he said soothingly when Crowley stayed on his knees like the world’s most ravished supplicant. “All of forever, my own darling. When I take you to bed, I want you to have the loveliest time of your entire life, and while I know you enjoy your films with their spontaneous lovemaking, it’s really very difficult to make things wonderful without a few sensible conversations beforehand about what you like best.”

“For the love of God, Satan, and John fucking Lennon, angel, I’ll do whatever you like and I’ll love every minute of it if you only _come back here!_” Crowley ground out between gritted teeth.

“I’d like,” said Aziraphale, “to discuss this over dinner.”

Crowley groaned, flopping face down on the rug in an overdramatic gesture of defeat.

Aziraphale sighed and crossed his arms as he waited for Crowley to resign himself to the inevitable. It took a few moments, but Crowley finally rolled his head to the side and peered up at Aziraphale pitifully. 

“You’re crueler than the lot of them, you know,” he said softly.

“Hardly, my dear.”

—

So they went to the Ritz; a table for two in the deepest corner of the restaurant was miraculously open when they arrived, and while Aziraphale had a soft spot for their usual table, it was rather exposed and some conversations required the illusion of privacy. This was a celebration, so Aziraphale ordered a dry champagne that he knew Crowley adored.

Crowley slouched in his seat, looking very cool and handsome in his dark jacket. When the waiter disappeared after leaving the bottle and they’d both tasted the champagne, he said, “so what’s it about this...new arrangement that’s so delicate it requires a bloody conference?”

“Negotiation,” Aziraphale corrected him absently; he was looking at the first courses. “Do you think the scallops or the blini look better, my darling?”

Crowley went red. Interesting. He’d never had such a reaction to dear, but then, that was far less intimate. “Dunno. Whatever you like best, I suppose.”

Aziraphale peered at him over the menu. “Which would you order for me?”

“What?” Crowley’s glasses slipped an inch as he stared at Aziraphale.

“Which do you think I’d like better? At a guess?”

“I—” Crowley scrunched his face up in confusion. “I mean, you like seafood, I suppose. So the scallops?”

Aziraphale smiled. “An excellent guess, Crowley. But today I’m afraid the blini are more to my taste. Do you see my point?”

Crowley lowered his menu. “Food. You’re going to do this with food metaphors.” 

“Of course. It’s easy to understand. And if I were to hazard a guess at your choice, I’d suppose the pâté—”

“I _did_ want the pâté,” Crowley muttered.

“—but of course I could be wrong and you might decide upon the poached egg instead,” said Aziraphale. “And that, my own darling, is why we ought to get used to discussing things before we rashly order something that isn’t to one another’s taste.”

“I can’t believe you’re using food metaphors,” groaned Crowley, and reached for his champagne flute.

“There’s nothing wrong with food metaphors,” sniffed Aziraphale. “Especially if I’m—well, if you’d like me to order for you. So to speak.”

“So to speak,” said Crowley faintly. He really shouldn’t gulp the champagne like that. He’d get hiccups.

Aziraphale smiled. “Unless you would rather order for me?”

Crowley actually looked a little alarmed at that. “Er, no thanks,” he muttered, pouring himself more champagne. “With my luck I’d order you scallops when you wanted blini.”

“There are times when I truly love a good scallop,” said Aziraphale gently. “I’m not opposed to you ordering for me sometime, if you’d like.”

Crowley was going interesting shades of red. “You can’t just say things like that, angel,” he whispered furiously.

“Whyever not? No one is listening, and besides, I’m only talking about food.” It was probably cruel to tease, but Crowley was ever so charming like this. Aziraphale couldn’t recall ever seeing him so shy. 

Crowley shot him an impressive glare. There was a great deal of eyebrow.

“Come now,” said Aziraphale, hiding his smile behind his champagne flute. “You told me yourself you’d been to sex clubs in the past. This can’t be any more scandalous than what went on there.”

Crowley did something very interesting then: he became quite focused on the menu and wouldn’t make eye contact with Aziraphale.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale frowned. “Crowley, why are you staring at that menu as though we both don’t realize you’re going to have the filet?”

“I might not get the filet,” mumbled Crowley.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in confusion. “My dear, if I’ve upset you, please, let me make amends. I don’t want to—”

“I didn’t actually do anything at those clubs,” blurted Crowley. He lowered the menu slightly. “It felt...cheap.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sat back, stunned. 

“Oh, stop looking so bloody besotted, angel. I wasn’t being _virtuous._” Crowley set his menu down a little too roughly and gave him a grumpy look across the table. “I just didn’t want anyone but you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help himself; he reached out, overwhelmed by his own adoration, and covered Crowley’s hand with his own. “Oh, Crowley,” he sighed, near to bursting with love.

Crowley grunted, but curled his fingers around Aziraphale’s.

The waiter appeared then, glancing down at their hands and smiling faintly. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“It is,” Aziraphale agreed, beaming. “I believe I’ll start with the blini, and my darling here will have the pâté.”

“Very good,” the waiter said smartly, and vanished.

“So you’re ordering for me,” mused Crowley, looking at their joined hands with a soft kind of wonder. 

Aziraphale let himself grin. “Crowley, my dear, you fell to your knees when I offered to kiss you. I believe we both knew how this was going to go.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Try not to let it go to your head.”

“I’ll take such good care of you,” Aziraphale promised softly. 

Crowley was quite red again. It was ever so charming. “Stop that. There’s people around.”

“No one is looking,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley looked at him, and even with the glasses on his face he still looked terribly vulnerable. 

Aziraphale wanted to protect him, suddenly. The urge was gut-deep and as ferocious as it had been when he’d suggested they switch bodies to escape their sides’ retaliation. He wanted, deeply, to wrap Crowley in warm blankets until he stopped looking so damnably frightened, and then peel those blankets off him to put another, rather more delighted, look on his face.

However, he remembered the blini, and in light of that, all he did was squeeze Crowley’s hand and pick it up to press the swiftest of kisses to the inside of his wrist.

Crowley actually shuddered, lips parting to let out a shaking breath. “Hell should have left the tempting to you, angel,” he said with an attempt at a smile.

Aziraphale was just going to take that as a compliment. Still. “Expressing love isn’t a sin, Crowley.”

“It might be when you express it like that in the middle of dinner!”

“Then I do wonder what you’ll think about how I plan to express it after we get home, should you be amenable,” said Aziraphale primly, and smiled at Crowley’s dismayed expression.

“I’m going to discorporate,” Crowley muttered glumly.

“Oh, I very much doubt it.” Aziraphale patted his hand.

Crowley heaved a sigh and picked up his champagne again. He eyed Aziraphale over the rim of it as he took a sip. “So, aside from burning me up from the inside out, what’s the point of talking about this?”

“Oh!” God help him, Aziraphale had gotten distracted. “Yes, that’s important. Thank you, Crowley. Essentially, we ought to look at—well, at a menu, so to speak, and decide what dishes we’d like to include on it.”

“A menu.” Crowley was squinting at him like he thought Aziraphale might be joking.

“Yes. Although I suppose a better metaphor would be that we look over all the dishes available in the world, and decide what we would like our own menu to look like.”

“So that sometimes you can order the blini and others the scallops,” said Crowley, with the air of a man grasping at straws.

“Just so!” Aziraphale beamed at him.

“So what, er, dishes are we looking at?” asked Crowley hesitantly.

That brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face. “Are you sure you can bear to discuss it here?” he teased gently. 

Crowley made a face at him. “I’ll manage,” he said dryly.

“Right then!” Aziraphale squeezed his hand again, excited at the prospect. Oh, there were _loads_ of delightful things to do to a lover, and the thought of showing them to Crowley—of being the _first_ to show them to Crowley—well, that was simply too delicious. “I must confess, darling, I’m nearly overwhelmed with what I’d like most.”

“That’s both of us, then.” Crowley was very good at letting you know he was rolling his eyes without showing the eyes in question. “So what is it that excites you so, angel? Whips? Chains? Bit of public humiliation?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale reared back, appalled. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Well, isn’t that what this rubbish is? Sadomasochism being in the name and all?” Crowley’s shoulders hunched.

Aziraphale sighed. “Given your history, I can see why you think that. However, there’s far more to it than just....” he made a face. “_that._”

“Really.” There were entire galaxies of doubt in Crowley’s tone.

He tried again. “Did you know adding a splash of vinegar to strawberries makes them taste sweeter?”

“What’s strawberries got to do with anything?” demanded Crowley.

“I’m telling you. Vinegar alone is very bitter, don’t you agree? Terribly unpleasant.”

“Good for salad dressings,” mused Crowley.

“Only when mixed with other things. Now, though, if you add just a touch of something sharp, it makes the sweetness much more intense. Do you see? It’s all about adding exactly the right amount of vinegar.”

“So—er—what sort of vinegar do you like with your strawberries?” Crowley made a face, but he gamely kept the metaphor going. 

Aziraphale wondered if all angels felt the urge to be a little bit wicked, or if it was just him. “If you’re asking whether I want to slap your arse, the answer is maybe.”

Crowley choked on air. “Angel!”

Aziraphale shrugged, and then beamed at the waiter as he appeared with their first courses. “Ah, thank you! I believe we’ll need another bottle of champagne, as well.”

The waiter looked between them, then to the mostly empty bottle, and then brightened. His tip, after all, was looking very promising. “Right away.”

“_Aziraphale!_” Crowley hissed as soon as the waiter was gone. 

“You did ask,” said Aziraphale primly, popping a blini into his mouth. The smoked salmon was perfection, and the caviar burst on his tongue. He closed his eyes against the wave of pleasure that washed over him. “Oh, that’s scrumptious.”

When he opened his eyes, Crowley was red again, his pâté untouched in front of him. “You look obscene when you eat,” he told Aziraphale. 

“Enjoying something is obscene now?” Aziraphale shook his head. “My, what an expansive view of sin. No wonder so many humans have abandoned organized religion.”

Crowley smirked. “Perhaps they read that Ingersoll fellow and decided I was right.”

That made Aziraphale smirk right back. “I’m not going to say I told you so,” he said smartly, “but I absolutely told you so.”

“Aren’t you precious.” Crowley gave him a droll smile as the waiter returned with a fresh bottle of champagne. He waited until the man retreated and then leaned across the table. “Do you really want to slap my arse?”

If he was hoping to ruffle Aziraphale’s feathers, he was doomed to disappointment. “If I thought you would enjoy it,” Aziraphale answered, popping another blini in his mouth. “After all, it’s very fetching when your face flushes red, so why stop there?”

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

“I have to confess, I’m having rather a lot of fun shocking you,” Aziraphale continued. “A demon whose sensibilities are more delicate than an angel’s...it’s really quite charming, Crowley.”

“You do realize I’m only shocked because it’s you saying this, don’t you?” Crowley was, as ever, quick to defend himself. “I just didn’t know an angel could be so filthy.”

“You have no idea,” murmured Aziraphale with a wide grin.

“I’m starting to learn.” Crowley grinned back.

And oh, how perfect it was to have him playing back. That was always part of the fun with Crowley, the push and pull, the way he gave as good as he got. Aziraphale loved life’s quiet pleasures, true, but his affiliation with Crowley had never been safe. It was possible part of him had missed the thrill.

“Slapping your arse is barely the beginning,” he told Crowley in a low voice. “I would bind your hands with the softest ropes and hold you fast while I stroked every inch of your skin until you trembled and shook and begged me to hurt you just to feel something _more._”

Crowley sat back slowly. “And you expect me to eat four more courses after you go and say a thing like that?”

“Of course.” Aziraphale smiled. “Eat your pâté.”

Crowley scowled. But he did eat his pâté, even though he did it appallingly fast. What was the point of dining at the Ritz if you were merely going to inhale your food? Aziraphale couldn’t understand it.

“You know,” he said as he swiped his last blini through a smear of sauce just to get every last bit, “if you treat sex like you do food then I’m quite glad I’m the one setting the pace.”

That got him a glare. “Meaning what?”

“Meaning you’re already finished with this course, my dear, and I intend to savor every last bite of it.” Aziraphale smiled with teeth before he slowly raised the blini to his lips.

Crowley watched it vanish into his mouth with that still, hungry focus he got sometimes. It would be disconcerting if Aziraphale hadn’t known him for so long. “So you think we ought to fuck at a glacial pace, is that it?” he asked, trying for cool. His body language betrayed him.

“I never said glacial.” Aziraphale shook his head fondly. “I simply mean to savor each bite of you with exactly as much relish as this blini.”

A smile played across Crowley’s lips. “Doesn’t sound terribly kinky to me, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled primly. “Or perhaps,” he said, ignoring Crowley’s lighthearted jabs, “I would ask you to do certain things for me, and inform you that I would like them done to my satisfaction before I allowed _you_ any satisfaction.”

He was watching for it, which was how he saw the way Crowley’s jaw tightened. Crowley swallowed. “Angel,” he said slowly, “when you say satisfaction, you don’t mean—”

“I do,” said Aziraphale smoothly. “Does the idea hold any interest for you?”

“I, uh—” Crowley made some vague noises that Aziraphale understood to be very positive. 

“Excellent,” he said warmly, and rewarded Crowley with another hot kiss to the inside of his wrist. For all Crowley’s complaints of cruelty, Aziraphale was kind enough to resist touching the tip of his tongue to Crowley’s pulse. He wanted him to survive the rest of the dinner, after all.

Crowley still stared at him with a gratifyingly awestruck expression. 

The main courses arrived, forcing Aziraphale to drop Crowley’s hand in favor of the cutlery. The filet looked spectacular over on Crowley’s plate. Nearly enough to make him regret his Dover sole. Nearly. He simply had to tell him. “Crowley, your filet looks...Instagrammable.”

“Please stop trying to sound hip, angel. No one says Instagrammable.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Well, it’s still lovely enough to photograph. Do people still do that?”

“Yep.” Crowley sawed off a piece and opened his mouth.

“Wait,” said Aziraphale before he could stop himself.

Crowley scowled at him, fork raised. “What is it?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Slowly. If you please.”

Crowley sat up a little straighter, rearing his head back just a bit as though to take stock of the situation. “Right,” he said with a slow head tilt, “so you want to order for me and make sure I eat how you’d like.”

“I want you to savor the experience,” said Aziraphale simply. “You’ve slowed down for me in the past. Surely this is so much simpler?”

“Yes, in some ways,” Crowley admitted. “In others not so much.”

“Your filet will get cold,” Aziraphale prodded him gently.

Crowley nodded, and looked directly into Aziraphale’s face as he closed his lips around the piece of meat.

“And how is it?” asked Aziraphale after Crowley had chewed for a minute, still watching him intently from behind his glasses. “Is it to your taste?”

Crowley swallowed and reached for the champagne. “Yeah,” he croaked. “Put this on the sodding menu, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so glad.”

Crowley cut another small piece of filet and raised it halfway to his mouth before he paused and glanced furtively at Aziraphale. 

“Go ahead, my darling,” Aziraphale said softly. Oh, it was wonderful watching Crowley warm to the game. He’d known—or rather, he’d very hoped—that they would be aligned in this. After all, they were so perfectly compatible in so many other areas. 

“So,” said Crowley after he’d chewed and swallowed, “if it’s to be this—” and he gestured between them and their plates— “then I suppose I can see the appeal. There’s more you aren’t telling me though.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Of course there’s more. Everyone likes different things, after all. I’m not terribly fond of anything degrading or truly painful, although I’ve been asked to do such things.”

“And did you?” asked Crowley, sounding sympathetic. They both, after all, knew the pain of being forced to act against their nature and conscience.

“Once. It was a dreadful mistake, although in the fellow’s defense he felt terrible after.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a wan smile. “Some people forget that the person doing has as many feelings as the one being done to.”

It was Crowley’s turn to reach across the table then, long fingers caressing the back of Aziraphale’s hand before he took it. “Anyone who could forget you have feelings is an idiot,” he said. “I won’t make that mistake, angel.”

Aziraphale turned his hand so it was palm up. “I like to look at it as a lesson,” he said. “Always be clear about what everyone wants.”

Crowley straightened up. “That’s why you’re so set on talking this to death, is it?”

“I would not make you feel that way for anything in all the world,” said Aziraphale firmly.

Crowley’s whole face scrunched up with pleasure. “You really ought to quit saying things that make me want to kiss you, angel.”

“Where is my incentive to do that?” Aziraphale batted his eyes, hoping he looked fetching. “I hope you always want to kiss me.”

“No worries there,” said Crowley dryly. 

Aziraphale decided to celebrate that fact with a bite of his fish. It was perfect, as always. That was the beauty of the Ritz; everything was always, without fail, spectacular. Crowley looked luminous in the soft light, the food tasted finer than anything, and by the time the meal was over Aziraphale’s heart and belly were both full to bursting with wonderful things. He wanted to kiss Crowley again, just to taste the champagne and cream on his tongue. 

So he did, just outside the restaurant, while the London crowds surged around them. Someone mumbled something at them about getting a room, which was completely uncalled for, as it was a very quick kiss. Barely went on for ten minutes. Aziraphale was quite pleased with himself when he drew back and took in the glazed look on Crowley’s face. “Let’s go home, Crowley.”

Crowley licked his lips distractedly, as though reaching for the last taste of Aziraphale on them. “Yeah, alright.”

Walking through London arm-in-arm was as comfortable as ever, which Aziraphale had foolishly worried would not be the case. There was certainly a new thrill to the feel of Crowley’s arm under his hand, but rather than taking away the soft, reassuring sense of safety and familiarity that Crowley always evoked, it enhanced it. Like a good cologne when applied judiciously. Theirs was no raging inferno, but then, slow and well-built fires burned longer.

And they did not lack for heat.

When the door to the bookshop closed behind them, they broke apart to hang up coats and scarves, acutely conscious of one another’s proximity but unwilling to break the delicious tension that came from being alone.

“Did you want tea?” Aziraphale asked.

“We just ate, angel.” Crowley sounded amused.

“Oh, I know. But you get cold so easily—”

“Then you’d best warm me up.” 

Aziraphale turned away from the tea station.

Crowley was lounging against the back of the sofa, ankles crossed. As Aziraphale watched, he reached up to slide the glasses off his face and set them down on the nearby table. “We do have all those nice warm blankets, after all.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, “we certainly do.”

Crowley reached up to pull the tie loose from his neck and tossed it away. 

Aziraphale’s gaze fell to the long pale column of his throat, and the sparse hairs on his chest revealed by his partially open shirt. He thought, for a moment, about sitting down in his favorite armchair with a drink and making Crowley undo each of those buttons with agonizing slowness until Crowley was cursing him. Later. There was a heat in those yellow eyes that promised a fine time if Aziraphale chose to indulge him now. “Go on,” he whispered.

Crowley paused, as though the verbal encouragement made him suddenly self-conscious. But then he nodded and shrugged off his jacket, laying it across the back of the couch. The shirt came next, and Aziraphale looked over his pale, thin torso. Oh, how he loved those collar bones and those delicate shoulders. Crowley was always a vision, Aziraphale’s opposite in every way, and somehow perfectly, ineffably his other half.

“Do I have to bother with the shoes or can I just miracle them away?” Crowley’s voice broke the hush that had fallen over the shop.

Aziraphale sighed. “Go ahead, my dear.”

“Cool. Thanks.” The shoes were gone then, and seeing Crowley’s bare feet seemed terribly intimate. Aziraphale wanted to hold them in his lap and caress them, tracing the delicate bones under the skin and marveling at how straight Crowley’s toes were.

He tugged at his collar, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. “If you mean to tempt me, Crowley, well done.”

Crowley’s grin was a slow, satisfied, spreading thing that took up his whole face. He toyed with a button on his jeans before popping it open, and if Aziraphale forgot to breathe as he slid the zipper down, well. It was hardly as though he’d suffocate.

It wasn’t that they’d never seen each other without clothes; Aziraphale changed his the human way, after all, and he’d worn Crowley’s body during their respective trials, not to mention all the relaxing trips over the years to the baths or the sauna. But never like this. Never with desire flowing through him like liquid gold, turning Crowley’s familiar form into a forbidden delight that Aziraphale intended to revel in. He actually bit his lip when Crowley slipped his hands around the waistband of his jeans to push them down his thighs.

Only...well, they never made it past his thighs.

“What the hell?” Crowley looked down—or more accurately, glared. His tight black underpants had bunched around his hips, baring a tantalizing thatch of red hair but refusing to move any further down Crowley’s legs. He wiggled a bit. Nothing.

“Are...are you stuck?” Aziraphale bit his lip against the laugh that was bubbling in his chest.

“I’m not stuck,” snapped Crowley, who was clearly stuck. He wiggled his hips more, nearly fell over, caught himself on the back of the sofa, and miracled the lot of it away with a hissing curse.

Aziraphale coughed.

“Not a damned word,” growled Crowley, pointing accusingly at him. “Not one, angel.”

“Of course not,” said Aziraphale with another cough.

Crowley eyed him narrowly, clearly still suspicious. Aziraphale gave him his most angelic look. “Let’s just go upstairs,” Crowley muttered.

“Oh, after you,” said Aziraphale graciously.

Crowley paused, giving him another beady look. “You just want to look at my arse,” he crowed after a moment.

“Of course I do. It’s very lovely, and you had to work so hard to liberate it.” Aziraphale kept a straight face, but it was an effort.

Crowley’s expression bloomed with outrage. 

“Shall we?” asked Aziraphale smoothly, and gestured toward the stairs.

“See how gracious I am next time you do something stupid,” Crowley grumbled, but Aziraphale was too busy admiring the play of muscles under his skin, and the sway of his hips as he took the stairs. It really was a very slappable arse.

After centuries, Aziraphale had developed a fondness for firelight, and so had included a fireplace in the bedroom. They didn’t use it every night; sometimes heavy darkness was the thing they wanted, but just now Aziraphale was enchanted by the thought of Crowley’s bare skin lit by flickering gold. He snapped his fingers and the fire roared to life, dancing cheerily in its grate. 

“There,” he said with satisfaction. “That’s much better.”

Crowley paused at the foot of the bed, one long-fingered hand absently tracing the quilting on one of the blankets. “So what about you, angel? Or did you plan to fuck me while wearing your bow tie?”

“Bow ties are stylish,” said Aziraphale easily, “and I had no plans to fuck you just yet. There are so many other things we can begin with.”

“And do any of them require you to undress?” asked Crowley peevishly. “Because if so I’d vote we start with them.”

Aziraphale reached up and tugged at his tie. The knot came free, and he slid it off his neck before popping a few buttons on his collar.

“Oh,” Crowley breathed. His entire body went still and hungry, sharply focused on Aziraphale’s hands. 

It was extremely flattering. Aziraphale went a bit faster than he usually felt comfortable with, although he was pleased to say that he did not get trapped by his own trousers.

“Oh, leave the coat, angel!” snapped Crowley when he went to lay it over the back of the chair. “If you don’t get over here this instant I’m going to—”

“To what, exactly?” asked Aziraphale, turning toward him. 

Crowley’s mouth stayed open for several seconds, but he seemed quite beyond words. A few aborted attempts were made, but eventually he gave it up to look his fill.

Aziraphale knew his body wasn’t terribly extraordinary. He wasn’t a stunningly beautiful man like Gabriel’s corporeal form, or sleek and flashy like Crowley’s. Still, he liked it. His hair was striking, so he’d been assured repeatedly throughout human history, and the softness he’d cultivated made him look rather approachable, which counted for more in his book than being stunning.

And from the way Crowley was staring at him, he didn’t have any complaints. “Angel,” Crowley whispered softly, “come here.”

Why resist when they wanted the same thing? Aziraphale stepped into Crowley’s arms and let himself be kissed. It really was so much better in their bare skin, when every brush of Crowley’s fingers against his shoulders made him shiver, and he could slide his own hands greedily over Crowley’s narrow hips just to feel the jut of bone.

They both had cocks today, which suited Aziraphale nicely as it was what he usually chose when he opted to make an effort. He liked consistency, and the weight of a hard prick in his hand. Did people still call them pricks? Crowley would know, he always kept up with current slang. Perhaps Aziraphale would ask later. At the moment he was more preoccupied with sitting on the bed so Crowley could slither into his lap, trapping him between those long legs and grinding their pelvises together.

Yes, that was very nice.

But once again Crowley was rushing. He rocked against Aziraphale, tucking his face into his neck to press sloppy kisses against the skin there. The touch of his mouth sent a sizzle of pleasure through Aziraphale, but he resisted the urge to rut mindlessly against Crowley. He was sure it would be lovely, but he wanted more.

“Darling,” he gasped out as Crowley licked a hot stripe up the tendon of his neck, “would you be terribly put out if I asked you to fetch me the petroleum jelly from the bathroom?”

Crowley hissed, a low dry snake sound, and pressed something into Aziraphale’s hand before he went back to sucking on his earlobe. And wasn’t that a delightfully ticklish sensation?

Aziraphale bit back a smile as he popped open the lid on the little container. “Thank you, Crowley. Just as I asked.” He gave in and closed his mouth around Crowley’s collar bone, licking a slow trail toward the hollow of his throat. It was enough to break Crowley’s concentration, and Aziraphale experimented with just a hint of teeth as Crowley threw his head back with a breathless groan.

A success. He would remember that in future. “We must get you very slick now,” he whispered to Crowley. “I want my fingers to slide into you as smoothly as—”

“Please don’t use a food metaphor here, angel,” Crowley gasped.

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’ll have you as slippery as a fresh oyster in no time.”

“You’re terrible,” Crowley moaned. “I can’t believe you took me out for aphrodisiacs in Rome, you shameless flirt.”

“Oh, did you notice?” Aziraphale reached back to slip his slick fingers between Crowley’s cheeks. There wasn’t much arse to speak of, but what there was felt absolutely lovely under his hands. He would get better acquainted some other time. Right now he was focusing on the way Crowley’s breath hitched when he rubbed his fingers ever so gently against his hole, thighs tensing where they dug into Aziraphale’s sides.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered shakily, gripping Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Did you ever do this for yourself?” asked Aziraphale, pressing a soft kiss to the snake marking on Crowley’s temple. He pressed the very tip of his finger inside and groaned along with Crowley. “Oh my dear, you’re so _warm._”

Crowley whined, canting his hips back in an attempt to get Aziraphale’s finger deeper. “Shit,” he breathed. “Oh, bless it all, that’s good, angel.”

“So glad you’re enjoying it.” Aziraphale smiled. “But tell me, did you ever attempt it on your own?”

“This? Nah. I usually just rub the fun bits if I want to have it off.” Crowley gasped sharply, prompting Aziraphale to repeat the action in hopes of eliciting another of those pretty sounds.

It worked. “Pity you didn’t think to rub this,” Aziraphale said idly. He rested his free hand on Crowley’s hip, smoothing over the dip with his thumb. “You really are beautiful, Crowley.”

“Oh, shut up.” Crowley’s eyes were closed and his face contorted in pleasure as Aziraphale pressed a second finger in alongside the first. “_Ah!_ Tell me you’re not gonna slow us down for another discussion, angel, because I really couldn’t take it.”

“You could.” Aziraphale kissed his throat tenderly. “Someday, darling, we shall see just how much you can take. You’d be ever so pretty twisting on my sheets, with your face contorted just so, and your lovely mouth open and panting for me.”

Crowley trembled above him, riding his fingers properly now. “Fucking hell, angel,” he breathed. “Can’t say that sort of thing.”

“No?” Aziraphale smirked. “You clench on my fingers when I do. Squeeze me again, darling, it feels delicious.”

“Oh _God,_” Crowley moaned, clenching and then pressing back for more. “Angel, tell me what’s next. Give me more, I need more, _please_ Aziraphale—”

“Touch yourself,” Aziraphale told him, ruthlessly narrowing in on Crowley’s prostate. “I want you to show me how you do it.”

Crowley’s hand dropped to his cock, wrapping around it and beginning to move in time with his hips. “Thank you,” he gasped, letting his eyes slide shut. “Thank you, angel.”

Oh, he was perfect. Beautiful, sublime creature, he was everything Aziraphale had ever wanted. So Aziraphale told him so, whispering hot against his skin about how lovely he was, how delicious were the sounds he made, how Aziraphale loved to watch him in ecstasy. “I want to taste you when you finish, Crowley. You’re going to offer your hand and I’m going to enjoy every bit of it. And then I think I’ll kiss you so you can taste yourself on my lips.”

Crowley made a choking noise at that. “Oh lord, angel, you can’t. You can’t fucking _say that_ or I’ll pop off right here.”

“So do it.” Aziraphale licked his cheek. It was a needing, feral gesture, born from the uncontrollable urge to experience Crowley with every one of his senses. “Do it for me.”

And Crowley did as he’d always done: he gave Aziraphale exactly what he asked for. His face was exquisite as it contorted in pleasure, joy and bliss and shame and agony jumbled all together in a beguiling mix that Aziraphale would have to watch again and again to untangle. His thighs trembled and his back arched, his fingers gripping Aziraphale hard enough to dent flesh. He bit his lip with his shining white teeth, and he whimpered so softly that it felt like a prayer.

Aziraphale was enchanted. He pressed a reverent kiss to Crowley’s shoulder and smiled. “Very good, my darling. Now give me your hand.”

“Filthy,” Crowley whispered thinly, already offering it palm out.

Aziraphale took his time, sticking out his tongue to lick a long stripe from the base of Crowley’s wrist to the very tip of his middle finger. That long, elegant finger just begged to be sucked, so Aziraphale did, moaning in quiet delight as he tongued at the pad of Crowley’s finger, the musky taste of salt heavy in his mouth.

“Oh lord.” Crowley was staring at him, eyes engulfed in yellow. “Your _mouth..._”

Aziraphale pulled off, pleased with himself. “I think we ought to cancel our plans tomorrow,” he said with a grin.

“We had plans?” Crowley blinked several times.

“None beyond the usual,” Aziraphale reassured him. “I only meant that the shop ought to stay closed and you and I ought to only get dressed to collect our delivery of Thai food, because I think the day would better be spent right here.”

“Oh.” Crowley nodded. “Well, when you put it like that it sounds right enough. I like it. Yes.”

“Perfect.” Aziraphale kissed him then, cupping Crowley’s cheeks as he slipped his tongue into the other’s open mouth.

It might have been a late start as far as these things went, but it was, if Aziraphale said so himself, a very good one.

—

Over the next several days, the bookshop remained closed and they became rather familiar with delivery from local restaurants while they stayed in. There was a fluidity to this new Arrangement as they tested out what they liked. Crowley, Aziraphale discovered, enjoyed having his hair pulled, and melted whenever Aziraphale did it. He was mad for kissing, whether the wet open-mouthed kind Aziraphale liked when he was feeling particularly amorous or soft brushes of lips. 

He also, Aziraphale learned quite by surprise, defaulted to a cunt when he was surprised into arousal. 

“‘S not a problem, is it?” he asked tightly, when Aziraphale had slipped a hand down the front of his trousers while sucking a pretty little mark on the back of his neck.

“Not at all,” Aziraphale told him honestly. “I believe you once said something about infinite variety.”

“I didn’t even _like_ Antony and Cleopatra,” Crowley whined as Aziraphale petted his clitoris.

“Whyever not?” Aziraphale pressed a finger inside him, making him groan. He’d always been partial to that one, both for the dialogue and the glowing sense of pride he’d felt at Crowley’s throwaway line becoming a classic.

“Because they _died,_ angel.” Something in Crowley’s tone made Aziraphale pause. He didn’t remove his hand from Crowley’s trousers, but he did stop moving it.

“Darling?” he asked softly, pressing another kiss to Crowley’s nape.

“They were so perfectly suited to one another,” Crowley said hollowly. “They understood each other, loved each other better than anyone in the world. And they died.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. On the one hand, that was rather the defining characteristic of a tragedy. On the other, he couldn’t help but remember Crowley saying he preferred the funny ones.

It wasn’t too difficult to intuit why.

“My dear,” he whispered, resting his chin on Crowley’s bony shoulder. 

Crowley growled. “They didn’t even get to die _together!_ Bloody idiot went and offed himself as soon as he heard she was dead! If I’d done that we might never have—”

“_Crowley._” Aziraphale grabbed his chin and turned Crowley to face him. Those yellow eyes looked a bit wild, and Aziraphale kissed him until some of the panic faded from them. “We are not a tragedy.”

“We had all the makings of one,” Crowley said bitterly. “A demon who falls in love with an angel.”

“And an angel who falls in love with a demon,” Aziraphale reminded him.

Crowley laughed, but it sounded like his old laughs, the twisted, humorless ones that came out whenever they were drunk and Aziraphale had parroted the party line. “They should have had the world, angel, but it tore them apart. They _let it_ tear them apart.”

The words dropped like a bomb somewhere near Aziraphale’s heart. “The way I almost did,” he said softly.

Crowley swallowed. “No,” he whispered. “No, don’t think that, Aziraphale. I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley a little tighter against his chest. “You are marvelously forgiving, Crowley.”

“Angel—”

“I’ve wounded you,” Aziraphale said softly. “I know I have. But you always came back.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” Crowley admitted.

“Neither could I. I loved you far beyond anything else, even if I couldn’t quite admit it.” Aziraphale couldn’t let this continue. Six thousand years of fear and longing wouldn’t go away on their own, it was true, but ruminating on it would only cause Crowley to sink into one of his funks, and Aziraphale wasn’t prepared to let him sleep away the decade. He kissed the nape of Crowley’s neck again, but with rather more teeth than before.

Crowley shuddered. “Angel...”

“I’ve a good deal to make up for,” Aziraphale told him. “Let me start?”

Crowley leaned back heavily, wrapping both arms around the one Aziraphale had tight about his waist. “You don’t owe me anything, you know.”

“But I do. And I want to know what sorts of sounds you’ll make when I touch your pretty quim.”

Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes upward. “If you’re going to talk dirty, angel, you've got to keep it current.”

Aziraphale huffed. “Cunt, then, although the other sounds much nicer.”

“And what have I told you about nice?” There was that sly smile Aziraphale had missed. 

“Showing counts rather more than telling, my love.” Aziraphale bit, just so, over Crowley’s pulse and relished the sharp gasp he got in return. He flicked open the button of Crowley’s trousers and drew the zipper down to give himself more room to work. “And you did feel ever so nice right here...”

Crowley squirmed. “Angel—”

“I think I’m going to have you do this to me,” Aziraphale mused, slipping his hand into Crowley’s black drawers. “You make the most fascinating faces when I touch you right here.”

“Fuck,” Crowley breathed, rocking his hips to get more contact. “Your hands are so blessedly soft, angel.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale stroked Crowley’s clitoris with the very tip of a finger, shivering at the way he trembled. “Do you have a preference? I mean, in terms of which parts you like better?”

“D-dunno.” Crowley whined when he tried to part his legs and was prevented by his trousers. “Less mess with this set, you know?”

“Mm,” Aziraphale hummed, petting his finger in a little circle that made Crowley’s hips twitch with need. “But is it really? You’re getting very wet, after all.”

“Angel!” Crowley bucked, nearly tearing Aziraphale’s hand out of his trousers.

“Now, now,” tutted Aziraphale. “You must be still, Crowley. I can hardly work with you writhing about, can I?”

“Stay still?” Crowley’s outrage made Aziraphale smile. “Let’s see you stay still when I’m being a bloody tease!”

“Tease?” Aziraphale puffed up with his own (mostly for show) outrage. “Darling, it’s hardly teasing if I follow through in the end.” He gripped Crowley’s waist tighter and pulled him close, using his index and middle finger to rub soft, fast circles over Crowley’s clitoris. 

Crowley cried out, tossing his head back so that glorious red hair spilled over Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Shit, shit, shit,” he hissed, working his hips in time with Aziraphale’s fingers. 

“Your hips were made for temptation, you know,” Aziraphale told him in a low voice. “How anyone could watch you walk and not think about fucking you, I should never know.”

“So fuck me,” Crowley gasped. “I’d let you. I’d have always let you.”

“I know, my dear. And I will. I absolutely will. But right now I’d like you to come for me.” Aziraphale nibbled Crowley’s sharp jaw as he worked him with his fingers. “Let me see it, darling. Give it to me.”

Crowley let out a long, helpless groan, face twisted into the same pretty grimace of pleasure that Aziraphale was beginning to crave. “_God,_ Aziraphale. It shouldn’t be allowed to feel that good.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “And yet.”

Crowley tugged Aziraphale’s hand out of his trousers and twined their fingers together. “Let me return the favor, angel. I’ll do anything you like, anything at all.”

How could Aziraphale say no to that?

—

And so they began to learn one another’s bodies. It was a bit of a mad scramble to catch up, honestly, since they had taken so very long to get to know one another’s souls. Crowley had a breathtaking imagination. For all his shyness at first, he took to sex like a duck to water, and soon he was smirking across the table at a fascinating little sushi restaurant as Aziraphale tried to recover from being told that Crowley wanted to “eat your luscious arse like one of those dumplings.”

“Really, my dear,” he sniffed. “That’s rather crude, if...descriptive.”

“You woke me up saying you wanted to have my cock for breakfast and _I’m_ crude?”Crowley scoffed.

“That’s beside the point. We were alone then.” Aziraphale picked up a dumpling with his lacquered chopsticks and raised it to his mouth.

Crowley rolled his eyes but leaned forward on his elbows. “I’ll start at your shoulders,” he said, batting his eyes at Aziraphale from over the glasses. “Bite and kiss my way down your back, maybe leave a pretty mark just between your wings.”

Aziraphale dipped his dumpling in soy sauce. Some things truly didn’t change; Crowley tried to bait him and he inevitably engaged. But it wasn’t any fun if he didn’t hold out for a bit first.

Crowley’s eyebrows were hovering halfway to his hairline as he waited for a better response than Aziraphale blithely eating his dumpling. When he didn’t get it, he continued, “slide my hands up your thighs to part them. Bet you’d squirm, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a blissful sigh upon finishing his dumpling. When he opened them, Crowley was gazing at him across the table, wide-eyed under his glasses and, if you knew how to look for it, a bit frantic.

Oh, Aziraphale loved him. He couldn’t bear to see the doubt that had begun to creep over Crowley’s features. “Of course I’d squirm,” he said softly. “How could I not, with such a wicked demon between my legs, tempting me to sins of the flesh?”

Crowley blinked owlishly, mouth dropping open a bit. He never did know what to do when Aziraphale handed him the reins. Not figuratively, which he’d done many times, and certainly not literally, which had happened only once in 1215 when Aziraphale had needed to dig their lunch out of the back of the cart they’d been traveling in. They didn’t discuss that incident by mutual agreement.

Aziraphale dabbed his mouth with his napkin and hid a smile as he prepared a rescue. “I imagine you tempted me with filthy words until I simply couldn’t resist you.”

“Right,” said Crowley stupidly. “I did that, yeah.”

“And how was I supposed to withstand your hot, devilish mouth or your sinful fingertips?” Aziraphale paused as a plate of beautifully prepared sashimi arrived, and beamed at the waiter with instructions to pass his compliments to the chef. The trouble with being immortal was that one was always on the hunt for a new favorite sushi restaurant. 

“Devilish,” Crowley mumbled. “Yeah, alright, if that’s how you like it.” He took a sip of the hot sake they were sharing and leaned back. “Corrupting an angel, now. That’s something not even the legions of the damned could manage.”

“Quite,” agreed Aziraphale; the tuna nearly melted on his tongue and he let out a small, pleased noise.

Crowley eyed him. “Did you want me to leave you alone with that?”

“Oh no, darling. Go on. You were telling me about how you were going to ruin me.” Aziraphale took his own sip of sake and smiled.

“Ruin you. Right. Show you all sorts of carnal pleasures, yes. Er, how was I going about that again?” Crowley shifted in his seat.

“You were spreading my thighs and biting your way down my back,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“Ah, yes.” Crowley brightened. Then his brows drew together. “Is that really a thing for you? Getting, er—”

“Tempted?” Aziraphale chuckled, debating whether to eat the salmon roll next or the eel. “Crowley, dear, you’ve unwittingly tempted me more or less constantly since Rome, so can you be surprised that giving in has featured rather heavily in my imagination?”

“Yeah, but—” Crowley broke off, scrunching up his face in thought.

Aziraphale decided upon the eel and let Crowley process. The reviews of this restaurant said that they made their own soy sauce in house, and it was clear that the effort paid off. Aziraphale was going to have to miracle them some more good press, because he intended to keep coming back here.

“That involves me being, you know...”

“Wicked?” Aziraphale glanced up from the salmon roll he was now eyeing with intent. “Yes, that’s rather the point.”

“You know I’d never,” said Crowley in a soft sort of voice.

Aziraphale set down his chopsticks with a fond sort of exasperation. “Of course not, my darling boy. You loved me far too well to ever risk it. Honestly, I thought it might flatter your ego.”

“My ego?” Crowley did some distracting things with his lips as he considered this.

“Well, yes.” Soft-hearted, wonderful thing, Crowley. No wonder he’d gotten misty-eyed when Aziraphale had started showering the houseplants with compliments. “Driving an angel to lustful thoughts without even trying.”

Crowley swiped a finger through Aziraphale’s soy sauce and sucked it absently, pondering this. “It is a bit flattering,” he conceded. “Since Rome, then?”

“I tempted you into oysters,” said Aziraphale with a warm smile.

“You did at that. Slimy things, I don’t know what you see in them.”

“They taste like the sea!”

“With lemon?”

“Yes! And speaking of eating, you were telling me a story just now, weren’t you?” Aziraphale let his smile turn just a little saucy. “You mustn’t leave me in suspense, darling.”

“Angel, I’m beginning to think you like doing this sort of thing in public.” Crowley smiled broadly enough for the lovely little lines around his eyes to show. “I could make us invisible, you know.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale’s scandalized tone was tinged with a fair bit of delight. “That would be very wicked indeed.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Crowley leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. “Positively diabolical, the ability to corrupt an angel with lust and gluttony all at once. Sucking your cock while you eat your little California rolls.”

Aziraphale’s mouth went dry. He hastily reached for his sake and licked his lips. “Yes, well. That, erm, that would be. Yes.”

Crowley made a show of glancing around. “No one’ll know the difference, you know. Way you moan when you eat, it’ll look completely normal.”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale took a large swallow of sake. “If you’re planning to do something, you ought to get on with it before I finish these.”

“Oh, no worries, angel.” Crowley’s grin showed teeth. “They’re going to bring you another plate. Won’t quite remember you ordering it, but there you are. They’ll bring it out while I’m under this table with your cock in my mouth, and you’ll have to act normal until they leave.”

Aziraphale hastily set down his sake cup before he shattered it. “Good lord, Crowley,” he breathed. 

Crowley glanced around again. “Ah, coast is clear.” And he slithered out of his chair.

Aziraphale bit his lip, feeling himself go pink as he looked nervously at the other diners. There weren’t many, as it was early in the evening, but that only meant the young hostess had fewer people to see to. 

And oh, there were Crowley’s long-fingered hands on his knees, caressing and then pushing them apart to make room. Aziraphale let himself be moved, closing his eyes at the wantonness of it all, and carefully picked up his chopsticks.

The bite was a bit of a surprise, and he nearly dropped the sashimi he’d picked up. Crowley’s tongue was hot through the fabric of his trousers, laving at the spot he’d just bitten, high on Aziraphale’s inner thigh. Aziraphale dithered for a moment as he chewed the sashimi, tempted to manifest a cunt. Crowley, after all, certainly enjoyed having his seen to; just yesterday Aziraphale had made him come five times with his tongue alone, in quick succession until Crowley had sobbed and begged for him to stop. It tasted a bit like oysters, now that Aziraphale thought about it. No wonder it was so nice.

In the end, however, Crowley’s teeth on his zipper decided the thing for him. His cock manifested hard and aching as Crowley nuzzled his hip, and he had to stuff a crab roll in his mouth to cover the noise he made when those clever fingers drew him out of his trousers. Crowley petted his cock softly, like you’d stroke a little animal, and Aziraphale’s leg twitched for how good it felt.

“Eat your sushi, angel,” Crowley murmured, barely loud enough for him to hear. “And I’m going to eat this.”

Aziraphale’s eyes slid shut as Crowley’s lips closed over the head of his cock. Exquisite. That was the only word for it. Hot, and wet, with the delicious slither of tongue around the crown. He realized he was biting his lip, and forced himself to breathe. 

Really, he should have known that goading a demon into public sex was going to be spectacular.

He swallowed, taking another measured breath, and took up his chopsticks again. It really was too good, the bright briny flavor of the roe on his tongue as a decadent counterpoint to the way Crowley pulled off his cock just to lick it. Aziraphale’s hands shook with the effort of controlling his face when Crowley lapped at the very tip of his cock. Tasting him.

Oh, he was a terrible angel. No heavenly being should love this as much as he did. He selected another sushi roll, a perfect piece of tuna, and dipped it in soy sauce with trembling hands. He was nearly out of sushi, and fighting the urge to reach down and tangle a hand in Crowley’s hair so he could fuck his mouth with abandon.

“Here you are, sir,” said the waiter in Japanese, bowing slightly as he set a new platter in front of Aziraphale.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to thank the man, but Crowley—probably on purpose, the fiend—chose that moment to let his tongue bifurcate, and all that came out was a rather high-pitched squeak that nevertheless seemed to satisfy the waiter.

“You beast!” he hissed as soon as the man had gone, and let his head fall back with a silent groan when Crowley let out a hissing snicker against his skin.

This was the best kind of torture. Aziraphale savored the cool, creamy fish and the firm plump rice and heat of Crowley’s mouth as he worked his way through the platter. His belly was full, but he miracled room for more. It was his nature, after all, to chase pleasure and never be satisfied. He reached down, unable to help himself, and stroked Crowley’s hair. The softness of it beneath his fingertips filled him with a love so intense he nearly burst with it. 

“I adore you,” he breathed, overcome.

Crowley’s hands tightened on his thighs, bright points of pressure that bordered on pain. He hummed, and the vibration of it pulled a choked-off moan from Aziraphale’s throat.

Crowley paused, then did it again.

Aziraphale bit his own tongue. He’d unleashed a monster.

But oh, what a perfect one. As soon as Aziraphale lifted his hips in supplication Crowley gave in, taking him fully into his mouth and bobbing his head. The slide of those thin, beautiful lips over him left Aziraphale feeling shivery and hot, like the room was too warm. He ate another piece of sushi to cool down, and nearly moaned at the perfection of it all. To come with a belly and mouth full of such delicious food, with Crowley’s thumbs rubbing such tender circles on his thighs, with the filthy feel of saliva wetting his trousers because Crowley was messy about sucking his cock—oh, it would be sinful in the best way.

“Crowley,” he whispered, “you lovely, wonderful boy, giving me this. Make me come and I’ll reward you when we get home. Anything you ask for, darling, you’ve earned it, you’ve been _so good—_”

The praise worked, as he knew it would. Crowley moaned around his cock, a lovely, needing sound that set fire to Aziraphale’s blood, and assaulted his senses with a combination of suction and that clever, wicked tongue. Aziraphale finally gave in and rendered them invisible so he could let slip the gasping, panting moans Crowley was pulling from him.

“Oh, you wily old—_oh,_ Crowley—that’s lovely, just like that, your tongue is so _wicked—_”

He was rocking his hips now, fucking Crowley’s face shamelessly in the middle of the restaurant, with the lingering taste of sushi in his mouth and—and—

“_Shit,_” he whimpered as he came down Crowley’s throat, slumping back in his chair with a full body shudder. 

Crowley was back in the chair across from him, looking damnably smug and very handsome. His lips were swollen and red, and he dabbed at them with his napkin. “Lipstick next time,” he said gleefully. “I want to see where I’ve been.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and took a deep, measured breath. “I think,” he said slowly, “that I’m quite ready to pay the bill and go home, my dear.”

Crowley’s smile widened as he called over the waiter. Ten minutes later, they were on their way back to the shop, careening around corners at inadvisable speeds.

Aziraphale gripped the door. “I do wish you wouldn’t drive so fast, Crowley.”

Crowley, predictably, rolled his eyes. He completely ignored Aziraphale’s complaints about speed and had done since the late 1940s. “You said I’d get a reward when we get home,” he told Aziraphale. “I’m getting us home.”

It startled a laugh out of Aziraphale, who reached over to rest a hand on Crowley’s thigh. “Only slow down just a little, my dear. For me?”

Crowley’s thigh tensed, but the car did slow back to reasonable speeds. He didn’t look at Aziraphale.

“Thank you, my darling,” Aziraphale murmured. “You’re ever so good for me.”

“Shut up,” Crowley mumbled halfheartedly.

“No, I don’t think I will.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s leg. “I think I’m going to keep on telling you how wonderful you are until the day you believe me.”

Crowley hissed at him. It was almost believable.

“Now, now. No need for that,” tutted Aziraphale. “Just drive the car, dearest, so that when we get home I can take you upstairs and show you the rewards of being so good.”

The speedometer crept back up again, but Aziraphale found he didn’t mind. After all, they made it back to the shop in record time. When they parked, Crowley threw himself out of the car and stalked toward the door without a word to Aziraphale.

Well. That was alright. Aziraphale knew perfectly well how it felt to be embarrassed by one’s own desires. He would allow Crowley his show of temper. It would pass.

Aziraphale glanced around the empty street, made the decision to keep the shop closed just one more day, and followed Crowley inside. He found the demon upstairs sprawled elegantly across the bed with his boots kicked off, looking very cool and nonchalant. Aziraphale stopped in the doorway, admiring the long spare lines of him.

“Well, angel?” Crowley slipped his glasses off and twirled them effortlessly around his finger. “Are we still going to call that degenerate display in the restaurant good?”

Aziraphale closed the door and didn’t respond. Crowley seemed determined to be oppositional, and there was nothing to gain by engaging. Flighty thing. One minute he was on his knees in a public place and the next he was trying to act above it all. Aziraphale would be lying if he tried to claim he didn’t enjoy it.

Crowley seemed disappointed when he didn’t get a response. He set his glasses aside and propped himself up on his elbows. 

Aziraphale shrugged off his jacket and hung it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. Then he removed his tie, placing it with equal care into its proper drawer. He sighed with relief as he unbuttoned his collar and cracked his neck. Then he went for his cufflinks.

“What are you doing?” asked Crowley, although he sounded far less nonchalant now.

“Merely getting comfortable,” Aziraphale told him, rolling one sleeve up to the elbow. He turned back to Crowley as he started on the other sleeve. “I want to be able to attend to you without issue.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open and a few inarticulate sounds came out of it. They were all generally encouraging, so Aziraphale saw no reason to stop. 

He took the time to remove his shoes, but otherwise decided it was best to stay fully dressed. “Crowley, my dear, I’d very much like you to be naked right now.”

Crowley made an odd sort of noise, which sounded a bit like, “nyeghk,” but when Aziraphale looked back toward the bed, it was full of a very nude demon just as he’d requested.

Aziraphale smiled. “Thank you, darling. Very nicely done.”

“Don’t call me nice,” Crowley muttered, fingers twitching toward his glasses where they lay on the nightstand.

“But you are. Everything about you is nice.” Aziraphale made a show of looking him over. “From your glorious red hair and your lovely eyes to your perfect lips and long legs.”

Crowley turned his head, cheeks flushing. “Aziraphale,” he protested weakly.

“You appeal to every one of my senses, you know,” Aziraphale told him gently. “Your voice, your face, the shape of your body. The way you smell first thing in the morning.” He smiled benevolently at the way Crowley bit his lip. “The taste of your skin.”

Crowley’s eyes slipped shut, as though he couldn’t face Aziraphale’s words any longer.

Aziraphale reached out to stroke careful, covetous fingertips over Crowley’s ankle. “You’ve such soft skin, too,” he murmured. “Feels so delightfully human with all these little hairs, especially here.” He swept a finger along Crowley’s calf, catching on the hair and making Crowley’s legs fall open in response.

Crowley hissed again, but this time more as though he couldn’t help it.

“And of course that’s only the physical,” Aziraphale continued ruthlessly, sitting on the bed beside Crowley so he could explore the back of his knee. What a tender, secret sort of place. He wanted to lick it. “The truth is that while I find your body incredibly appealing, I’d love you the same no matter how it looked.”

“Angel,” whined Crowley, and he grabbed a pillow to hold over his face. Probably to cover how terribly red it was.

Aziraphale would allow it. Nothing to be gained by starting a fight now. “It’s your beautiful heart that I love so, Crowley. Your kind, compassionate heart.” 

“Don’t have one,” Crowley protested, muffled by the pillow.

“But you do.” Aziraphale gave in and petted the back of his knee. Crowley’s leg twitched, and that was very rewarding. “You love so deeply, my dear. After all, how long have you burned for me, and yet you never dreamed of pressing your advantage. Not once.”

“I dreamed of it.” Crowley tossed the pillow aside and glared.

Aziraphale met his eyes and beamed. “We can revisit that thought, my love. The point is that you waited for me at great cost to yourself. You’re thoughtful and wonderful and I’d very much like to please you. You always please me so well, after all.”

Crowley swallowed. Something like fear chased across his face, but when he opened his mouth he merely closed it again without speaking.

So Aziraphale kissed him, a soft slide of lips that nevertheless made Crowley relax against the bed. He reached up and fisted a hand in Crowley’s hair, tugging just enough to make him moan. Perfect. Aziraphale slipped him just a hint of tongue to complete the process, and when he sat up again, Crowley was staring up at Aziraphale like he’d personally hung the moon.

He hadn’t, of course. That was a different division.

Crowley’s tongue darted out to lick the last of Aziraphale off his lips. He was breathing hard already, thin chest heaving quite prettily.

“Tell me what you’d like best, dear,” Aziraphale murmured. “That’s what I’ll give you.”

It had the effect of turning Crowley a red to match his hair; he averted his eyes and gulped, throat bobbing noticeably. “I, er....” and he trailed off into a series of noncommittal noises before he finally swallowed again and, with a dismal attempt at nonchalance, said, “I suppose you could fuck me.”

Aziraphale had been biting back a smile throughout this performance, instead schooling his face into an open and inviting expression, but now he let himself grin. “I see.” He glanced down between Crowley’s legs; he was known to change his mind midway through the proceedings, surprising Aziraphale with some new bits that hadn’t been there a moment before. 

He never minded; it kept things interesting. Currently Crowley was sporting a rather clever cock with a darling little clitoris nestled snug to the base. Aziraphale reached down to stroke it, sending Crowley’s head back against the pillow where his hair spilled prettily.

“Angel,” he breathed, eyes sliding shut when Aziraphale gave him a long, slow stroke from base to tip. 

“I’ve thought you beautiful for such a long time,” Aziraphale murmured as he petted his thumb just so, making Crowley groan, “and yet I cannot recall ever seeing you so lovely as you are like this.”

“Shut up.” But it was true; Crowley’s lips were bitten red and Aziraphale had hardly touched him. His hair was mussed from where he kept tossing his head on the pillow, and for all his embarrassment, he kept his legs open. Aziraphale doubted it had occurred to Crowley to prevent Aziraphale from doing whatever he pleased with his body.

And what he pleased was to drive Crowley to fits of ecstasy, preferably more than once. To that end, he bent his head and licked a wet stripe up Crowley’s sternum, catching his chin on the way to his lips as he circled his thumb around the head of Crowley’s cock.

Crowley moaned into the kiss, opening his mouth eagerly. There was nothing to do but kiss him breathless (not that they needed to breathe). Aziraphale loved kissing, the drag of lips against each other, the catch of teeth and the hot press of tongue. It was decadent. 

“Thought you were going to fuck me,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s mouth. “I want it, angel.”

Those words lit a fire in Aziraphale’s belly. “Anything you want,” he promised Crowley fiercely; loathe as he was to take his hands off the demon, he reached down to open his trousers.

“Not even getting your kit off?” Crowley looked amused. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“My dear,” said Aziraphale mildly as he reached for the lubricant, “I believe you’re the one who is about to have it in you.”

Crowley groaned, long and low like he was in pain, and Aziraphale congratulated himself. He reached back to stroke over Crowley’s hole and paused. “You know this doesn’t usually self-lubricate.”

“Bit stupid, don’t you think?” Crowley batted his eyes. “What with everything coming and going through there on humans.”

Aziraphale had never considered it. He supposed Crowley had a point. And after all, it was terribly convenient. 

The noise Crowley made when Aziraphale pushed in raised the hairs on his arms. He immediately wanted to hear it again, so he set himself a steady pace and kissed Crowley’s neck as those long legs wound around him. 

He wasn’t entirely sure they were supposed to have that many joints, but that was neither here nor there. Crowley had been a lovely snake, and he made a lovely human, even if he did rather unsportingly mix and match his genitalia to achieve the best results.

“Oh,” Crowley breathed, “just a minute, angel—” and his face twisted into a grimace before it smoothed back into a satisfied smile. “There. Now do that again.”

Aziraphale thrust back in obligingly, and Crowley shouted in approval, grabbing frantically at Aziraphale’s back. “Yes, angel, fucking _yes!_” he gasped. “Just like that, don’t stop, don’t you bloody stop or I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Aziraphale pressed a tender kiss just below Crowley’s ear.

Crowley didn’t answer, just let out an unintelligible string of syllables that nonetheless conveyed that Aziraphale ought to keep at it. Right. Steady on was the thing to do. It had been a long time since he’d fucked anyone, but that had always gotten reliable results in the past, once angles and such were established. Crowley seemed extremely happy with this one, and now it was time for Aziraphale to make good on his promised reward.

He planted his hands on either side of Crowley’s head, lifting up a bit so he’d have better leverage, and rolled his hips. He could look directly down into Crowley’s face like this, watch the yellow overtake the white as Crowley let himself go. It was overwhelming; the hot, slick clutch of Crowley’s body around his cock, the sounds of their bodies slapping together, his own harsh, panting breaths accompanying Crowley’s ecstatic cries. And the sight of Crowley tossing his head on the pillow, face twisting as he let himself feel it, made Aziraphale love him so much it ached.

“Of any being God ever created, I love you best,” he whispered as he sped up.

Crowley’s eyes flew open. He stared wildly up at Aziraphale, panting and flushed, and then he let out a strangled groan and came. 

Aziraphale bent to kiss him, the fondness in his chest bubbling up to overtake him. He felt it from the roots of his hair to the tips of his toes—and his cock. A moment later he was coming as well, startled by the intensity of it.

When he drew back from the kiss, Crowley grinned up at him. “Caught you off guard, did it?” he said smugly. “Haven’t seen you look that surprised since the first time you ate a jam bun and it squirted all over your hands.”

“I love you much better than a jam bun,” Aziraphale told him, kissing the tip of his nose.

That shut Crowley up; he wrinkled his nose and promptly hid his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale rolled them onto their sides, ignoring Crowley’s grumbling when he slipped out of him. A quick miracle had them clean again, along with the sheets, and left Aziraphale free to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair until all the lingering tension left his body.

Crowley yawned. “So I should suck your cock in restaurants more often, then?” he asked without opening his eyes.

Aziraphale snorted. “If you like. I certainly enjoyed it.”

“I don’t really want to ruin you though,” Crowley murmured sleepily. “I want to keep you just as you are.”

Aziraphale rested his cheek against Crowley’s temple. “Just as I am?”

“Holy.” Crowley nuzzled him once, then sighed deeply and yawned again.

Aziraphale was left feeling a bit winded, in a way that had nothing to do with physical exertion. He’d known, of course, that Crowley struggled with his own Fall. How often had he heard him protest that he hadn’t meant it, really, he’d just made a mistake? For so long, Aziraphale’s holiness had been so wrapped up with his obligation to Heaven that it had begun to feel like an unbearable burden. It had never occurred to him that _Crowley_ of all people might prize what he’d accidentally thrown away. 

He found himself having to blink back tears. Just when he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t wound Crowley with his thoughtlessness again, he’d gone and done exactly that. 

Crowley let out a hissing snore in Aziraphale’s arms, already asleep. Aziraphale gazed down at that well-loved face, half tucked into his shoulder. How he adored him. How he tried to understand him. Crowley had always had the measure of Aziraphale, but the same could not be said in reverse.

It shamed him, how badly he misjudged Crowley.

Aziraphale had foolishly thought that Crowley would cast aside his notions of the sacred and the profane as gleefully as Aziraphale had; after all, they were beholden to no one for the first time in their lives. But surely that wasn’t right, was it? Crowley attempted to question the ineffable plan long ago, and he’d been cast out for it. 

“How could you?” he whispered in spite of himself; She never listened. “He’s the best of us.”

The silence seemed louder for a moment, and then Crowley grunted in his sleep and threw his arm into Aziraphale’s face.

Aziraphale sighed.

—

Loath as he was to do it, Aziraphale did have to open his shop sometimes. It wouldn’t be sporting otherwise. He was watching a rather shifty looking academic type browsing his eighteenth-century botany books when Crowley appeared at his side with a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits.

“Thank you,” he said, distracted from the beady eye he’d been keeping on the woman. “What’s this for?”

“It’s almost teatime, isn’t it? I didn’t want you getting peckish.” Crowley rolled his eyes and leaned his elbows on the counter. “Oh dear. Looks like she likes that one.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his biscuit in the rush to turn and glare at the woman. “Not my Linnaeus! Oh, she can’t really mean to buy it, can she?”

“She seems determined.” Crowley sounded amused.

“All well and good for you to laugh,” snapped Aziraphale. “It’s not _your_ first edition she’s touching. Has she washed her hands? What if she’s sticky!”

“I doubt she’s sticky, angel, only kids are sticky.” Crowley was _laughing_ at him!

Aziraphale schooled his face into a pout. “I can’t possibly replace that one. Crowley, you have to stop her.”

Crowley gave him a very unimpressed look, letting his glasses slip down.

Aziraphale let his lip wobble.

“Oh alright, fine,” Crowley sighed. He pushed off the counter and stalked up to the woman, swiping the book out of her hand and wordlessly walking away with it as she shouted after him. 

She also called Aziraphale a number of very unnecessary names before she stormed off, but Aziraphale didn’t mind. He smiled at her retreating figure as he closed the shop and went to find Crowley.

He found him idly flipping through pages on the bed upstairs, kicking his feet in the air aimlessly. “These are quite some good illustrations,” Crowley told him, glancing up.

“You see why I couldn’t part with it.” Aziraphale could feel his face softening with affection. “Thank you, Crowley. It was ever so good of you.”

“Shut up.” Crowley flipped a page.

Aziraphale crossed the room to sit next to Crowley; the mattress dipped under his weight, and Crowley followed its trajectory, rolling onto his back and letting his shoulder rest along Aziraphale’s thigh. “I’ve closed the shop,” Aziraphale told him softly.

“Dunno why you keep it open at all. You never sell unless you have to.”

“Bookshops are open sometimes. Those are the rules.”

Crowley set the Linnaeus down and peered up at Aziraphale. “Whose rules, angel?”

Aziraphale huffed, reaching down to run his fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley made a carefully calculated grumbling sort of noise and leaned into it. For some time they remained like that, not speaking, only the sounds of the traffic outside and the repetitive movement of Aziraphale’s fingers through Crowley’s hair. Crowley’s initial (weak, halfhearted) protests had died off and now he merely let out a contented sigh as Aziraphale tugged just a little.

“My dear, are you happy?” Aziraphale asked softly.

Crowley cracked open an eye; Aziraphale reached down and, after getting a nod, pulled the glasses off his face and miracled them over onto the bedside table. “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m happy.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, smiling. “Oh, I’m glad.” He scratched gently at Crowley’s scalp, prompting another round of performative grumbling. “I know...I know I haven’t always been easy on you, Crowley.”

“You what?” Crowley tilted his head; Aziraphale obligingly kept scratching. “It’s fine, angel. Water under the—ah, where’s it the water goes?”

“The bridge, I think.” Aziraphale studied him. “But I’d like to be better in future. Take more time to consider your feelings.”

“Is that why you’ve been going so slow lately?” Crowley squinted at him. “With all the, you know—” he lifted a hand vaguely and let it drop— “the sex stuff? Way you talked at first, I thought there’d be a lot more rope and such.”

“I—well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “It isn’t always about what I want. There’s two of us here, after all, and I didn’t want to push you.”

Crowley’s expression tightened, but an instant later had smoothed into neutral. “Something you want that you’re not getting, angel?”

“No!” Aziraphale pursed his lips. “What we’ve been doing is very nice.”

“But you want more.” Crowley sat up; Aziraphale let his hand fall away from his head. “Come on, you can tell me.”

“It’s not—we’re still working out the menu!” said Aziraphale desperately. He didn’t want to make Crowley feel inadequate; nor did he want to present him with what now seemed like a terribly selfish fantasy that he would have discarded centuries ago if not for his own prejudices.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “The menu, hm? You think I want to be an appetizer forever?”

Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. He hadn’t thought of it like that. “I think rather that we’ve been enjoying full meals,” he said haltingly. “I do like a lot of different kinds of food, you know.”

“So let’s try something you know you like,” Crowley prompted. “See if I like it too. I have so far.”

“It’s perfectly alright if you don’t,” Aziraphale reassured him. “Loads of people leave a dish or two off the menu if it isn’t to their partner’s taste.”

“Right. What exactly is it you think I’m gonna hate so much, angel?” Crowley fixed him with a beady stare.

Aziraphale blinked innocently.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, alright!” Aziraphale looked down at his hands. He needed a manicure. “I—do you remember at the old hospital, where you pushed me against the wall?”

“Er,” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his signet ring. “I rather enjoyed it. Or I would have, under better circumstances.”

“Oh.” Crowley went quiet for a bit. “So you...want me to push you around?”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath and closed his eyes. “I’ve told you how I’ve imagined letting you tempt me over the years,” he said quietly. “It’s—if it’s not too much trouble—I think I’d rather like it if you...pressed the argument.”

“I’m not following.”

“I would like to be rather forcefully seduced,” Aziraphale forced out, squaring his shoulders. He’d have no problem asking any other partner for what he wanted; somehow it was much more difficult with Crowley. 

Probably because no other partner mattered half so much as Crowley. And besides that, he wouldn’t want this from anyone else. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what the long silence meant, but when he dared to raise his eyes to the demon beside him, Crowley looked thoughtful.

“Interesting choice of words,” he said when he noticed Aziraphale looking.

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale looked down again, embarrassed. “I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

“Forceful seduction sounds like a nicer euphemism for something else.” Crowley’s voice was light, but Aziraphale heard the edge in it.

“Not that,” Aziraphale told him firmly. “_That_ bit wouldn’t be forced. I want...” he took another fortifying breath. “I want you to force me into admitting that I want you.”

Crowley made a considering noise. 

“You always let me retreat,” Aziraphale rushed to add, “and I loved you for it, I did. It was the kind thing to do, but sometimes I wished—”

“You wished I’d pressed you,” said Crowley softly. “Now I see what you meant.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale glanced at him. 

“Talked you around to yielding to temptation.” Crowley’s voice was dryer than the gin Aziraphale kept downstairs. “Right. You’ve mentioned that a couple times, angel. Why so shy about it now?”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to explain it. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he managed.

“Hurt me?” Crowley scoffed. “Come now, I’m a demon. I’m a bit tougher than that, aren’t I?”

“You shouldn’t have to be tough around me,” Aziraphale said softly.

Crowley waved that away with a gesture. “So how would it happen? In your deep dark guilty fantasies where I’m apparently some sort of incubus.”

“Oh, don’t laugh!” Aziraphale groaned and flopped backward, starfishing across the bed dramatically. “At the time it seemed terribly transgressive.”

“Your notions of what’s transgressive never fail to astound me.” Crowley chuckled. “Beat a pretty Englishman’s arse until he cries but panic over wanting to be fucked by a demon.”

“Not just any demon,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Honestly, having seen the rest of them, I’m confident you’re the only one who could convince any angel to renounce Heaven.”

“I suppose I’ll take that as a compliment.” Aziraphale glanced up to see Crowley looking pensive. 

“You should,” he hastened to say. “If only because the rest of Hell seems to lack imagination.”

Crowley snorted at that. “Really, though. Tell me how it goes, when you imagined it. You tell me that, and I’ll let you know if it’s something I can do.”

Aziraphale groaned and closed his eyes. “I—it changed over time,” he admitted. “As I got to know you better.”

“So how long have you been lusting after me, exactly?” Crowley sounded pleased, which gave Aziraphale the courage to open his eyes.

“You must know I found you beautiful in the garden.”

“I did not either!” Crowley grinned down at him. “You’re full of surprises.”

“And you’re entirely too lovely,” grumbled Aziraphale. “Going around tempting angels without meaning to.”

Crowley snorted again. “Come on, angel. Quit stalling.” He leaned forward and leered. “Tell me what dirty fantasies you used to have about me.”

Aziraphale squirmed. “It always started out very ordinary. Bumping into one another, or checking in. The usual.”

“Mm.” Crowley nodded. “Right.”

“And then you’d offer lunch, and then a drink,” said Aziraphale, staring purposefully up at the ceiling. “It changed, as I said.”

“You did say. Then what?”

“Then we’d—usually go back to someone’s room. For more drinking.”

“We did that a few times, didn’t we?” Crowley grinned. “I still remember that terrible little apartment above Aldgate.”

“Was that when you were neighbors with Chaucer?” Aziraphale paused, distracted.

“How do you think I knew how the Canterbury Tales was originally supposed to end?” Crowley smirked. 

“I do wish he’d been able to finish it,” sighed Aziraphale.

“I remembered the gist for you. Now go on. We’d be drinking in my room. And then...?”

“Well...” Aziraphale felt a bit stupid about this. It wasn’t, by human standards, any kinkier than anything else they’d done. The only thing that truly made it subversive was the fact that they were who—and what—they were. And he had always cared more about that than Crowley. “I would obviously try to leave, and you would...convince me not to.”

Crowley made a thoughtful noise. “Any particular means I used for that? Or did that change too?”

Aziraphale was blushing. He hadn’t blushed in ages. “Generally you’d start off being persuasive and end up trapping me somewhere.”

“Trapping you?”

“Like the bed or the wall, or—oh, I know it’s stupid, alright?” said Aziraphale miserably. “It’s completely based on the idea that you’re dangerous to know, and that’s tosh.”

“But I was dangerous for you to know,” said Crowley in a tone that made Aziraphale sit up; that was the voice he used when he had an idea. Sure enough, there was a grin spreading across his face. “You don’t want to be a sinner, angel, you want some dangerous liaisons to give you permission to cut loose.”

“I—” Aziraphale blinked. “Yes, I suppose I do.”

Crowley reached over and flicked Aziraphale between the eyes, very gently. “Sometimes you’re a bit stupid. Strange, since you’re so clever.”

Aziraphale batted his hand away. “I know,” he said miserably.

“I can work with this,” Crowley told him happily. “You just want me to order for you, right? Make you sit in your chair and eat something I tell you you’re gonna love?”

Now, that image made Aziraphale squirm in a different way. He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, I suppose.”

Crowley leaned close, grinning openly now. “Did you dream about thanking me personally after I’d got you out of a scrape?” he whispered directly into Aziraphale’s ear, hissing just enough to send shivers up Aziraphale’s spine.

Aziraphale swallowed loudly. “Once or twice.”

“Naughty. You don’t need tempting, angel, you’re already filthy.” Crowley kissed his neck affectionately.

Aziraphale’s eyes slid shut, the better to revel in the heat of Crowley’s mouth on his skin. “But it is a temptation,” he murmured. “Getting someone to act on an urge that’s already there. Convincing them to do what they wanted all along.”

“I’ll bet you were good at it,” Crowley breathed against his skin. He nipped, making Aziraphale jump. “Never got to watch you work, but I’m sure it was something to see. You’re so damned good at twisting me any way you want me. Why shouldn’t you be brilliant doing it to the humans?”

“Now, really,” Aziraphale protested weakly, but Crowley was already setting the forgotten book on the bedside table.

“Seems to me,” he said as he resumed his assault of Aziraphale’s neck, “that this isn’t so different from me removing the stain from your coat.”

“How do you mean?” asked Aziraphale breathlessly; Crowley’s application of teeth was devastating to his thought process.

Crowley tugged Aziraphale’s collar, slipping a finger inside to caress his skin. “Seeing to you. Giving you things you want but won’t get yourself. You like it when I do that, don’t you, angel?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered, squirming. Crowley’s touch sent shivers running all down his spine. “Oh, Crowley—won't you give me more?”

“More of what, angel? Name it.” Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s smile against his neck. “I’m intrigued by what your imagination can dig up.”

“I—” Aziraphale felt his face heat up. Crowley was still kissing his neck, hot mouth leaving trails of fire across sensitive skin, and a long-fingered hand had begun to stroke up and down his side. It was torturous through all the layers of clothes. “I suppose it would be very devilish if you took my clothes right about now,” he managed. 

“Make it difficult for you to just get up and leave, wouldn’t it?” mused Crowley, sounding amused.

“It certainly would. I—I would have to stay and let you do whatever you wanted with me.” Just the thought made Aziraphale’s stomach flip over; centuries of guilty fantasizing had that effect.

Crowley’s hand left his body; before Aziraphale could protest he snapped his fingers—and Aziraphale’s newly bared skin broke out in goosebumps as he found himself naked on his own bed. 

He gasped, jumping a little when Crowley’s hand settled on him again. “Not very sporting of you, Crowley,” he whispered.

“To Hell with playing fair.” Crowley grinned, biting the sensitive tendon along Aziraphale’s neck and making him moan. “I’ve watched you want me, angel. Not sure who you think you’re fooling there.”

“Don’t you know how _angry_ Heaven would be if they knew we were doing this?” Aziraphale panted.

Crowley broke then, snickering against Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Nice touch.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale grinned, pleased as he always was when he made Crowley laugh. 

Then Crowley traced a single finger down the middle of his back, stopping just between his shoulderblades. “You know,” he said too casually, “I always wondered about those shiny white wings of yours. So pure. So clean.”

Aziraphale felt breathless with lust. His chest heaved. “Crowley, you can’t mean to—”

“Get them out.” Crowley’s voice was soft and dark, full of confidence and command. The last time he’d purred at Aziraphale like that had been at the gates of the Tadfield Air Base, when the world had been ending and Aziraphale had been in no position to enjoy it.

“I haven’t preened them in ages,” he protested. “They’ll get feathers everywhere.”

“Don’t care. Wasn’t asking.” Crowley bent his head to suck a stinging mark on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“_Oh._” It felt so good to relax and let his wings unfurl on this plane of existence. Aziraphale tipped his head back and cracked his neck as the tension he always carried around with him dissipated. “Mm. Funny how you stop noticing the effort it takes to keep them contained,” he remarked.

Crowley had shifted behind him to accommodate the introduction of two twelve-foot wings into the proceedings. “Yeah. Honestly, angel, you should have said something. I’ve helped you groom before.”

“Oh, are they as bad as all that?” Aziraphale twisted around to look. That was embarrassing.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t care. It just can’t be comfortable. I’m taking care of these after.”

“Thank you, my dear.” Aziraphale gave him a sheepish smile.

“But for now...” Crowley rubbed his cheek along Aziraphale’s short convert feathers. “I think I’ll have a bit of fun making a mess of you.”

“The mess would show up better on yours,” said Aziraphale slyly.

“Going to anoint me, are you? There’s a blasphemy for you.” Crowley grinned, nuzzling between feathers to rub his nose against the delicate skin underneath.

Aziraphale melted. He’d let Crowley drive as fast as he liked through London as long as he kept doing just that. It felt glorious, and not a little naughty. “Darling—”

“It’s darling now? Thought I was supposed to be a foul fiend.” Crowley licked one of his feathers, which was bizarre, but not necessarily in a bad way. Aziraphale might have to feel it again to be sure. 

“Both, obviously,” he said impatiently. “I’m breaking free of repression, don’t you recall?”

“Right, right,” muttered Crowley, nibbling the edge of an alula where it sat close to the skin. “Getting distracted.” He plucked a loose feather and tossed it away.

“Well, carry on. You were doing splendidly,” Aziraphale told him. “That tone you used when you told me to get them out was very sexy.”

Crowley snickered. “It’s weird, hearing you saying sexy.”

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, I’ve heard you say lots of crude things. Especially lately.” Crowley leered at him. 

“Oh, honestly.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and sat up straighter. “If you’re going to make fun then I shall simply have to—“

Crowley’s arms came around him and pulled him flush against the demon’s chest, his wings spread awkwardly. “You’re not going anywhere, angel. Not until I’ve had you the way we both want.”

Aziraphale shivered, both at the words and the feel of Crowley’s hands caressing his stomach. One of them moved up to rove across his chest, tweaking a nipple and making him squirm. The other dropped low. 

“I’m going to touch you in all the places they told you were bad,” Crowley purred—there was no other word for it. His voice slid over Aziraphale like silk. “And after I’ve had my hands all over you, then we can decide who’s really right and who’s really wrong.”

“_Crowley,_” breathed Aziraphale. He was trembling. Couldn’t help it, really, not with the way Crowley had begun combing his fingers absently through his pubic hair, close to his cock but not enough to offer any relief. “Oh, Crowley...”

“Shall I use you rough, angel? Treat you like a little tart?”

“I like tarts,” Aziraphale managed to tell him shakily.

Crowley ignored this. “Do you think you could keep your wings still if I fucked you like this?”

“Oh lord.” Aziraphale shuddered. “I don’t—I don’t know if I can.”

“Let’s find out.” Crowley turned and sank his teeth into the meat of Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale wailed. It _hurt,_ deep in the muscle, but there was a sweetness to the ache that intensified as Crowley sucked at the mark. “Crowley,” he whispered again, overcome.

“Careful, angel. One beat of those wings will tear the room apart.” Crowley’s tongue—forked, Aziraphale noticed—flicked out over the mark he’d left. He finally wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s cock, holding tight when the touch made Aziraphale buck. “Now, now, none of that. If I’ve waited this long to have you, you can wait a few more minutes.”

“I don’t _want_ to wait a few more minutes!” Aziraphale whined—actually whined. “I want you inside me this instant! Won’t you give me what I want, Crowley? You always give me what I want.”

“Spoiled, willful thing. No wonder Heaven won’t have you.” Crowley pressed a tender kiss to the nape of Aziraphale’s neck. “They’re probably afraid you’ll use those pretty blue eyes to take over.” 

Aziraphale wiggled so that his backside pressed temptingly against the bulge in Crowley’s too-tight jeans. His wings trembled with the effort of keeping still, stretched out as they were. “Crowley, _please,_” he said as pitifully as he could manage.

Crowley thrust against him, clothed cock rubbing deliciously against Aziraphale’s bottom. “Hypocrite,” he hissed. “All the bloody times you told me to slow down. I ought to play with you until you’re _mad_ for it.”

“Oh, don’t,” Aziraphale begged, even as the words lit a fire in him. “Crowley, you wouldn’t. Please, darling, I need you so.” He was trapped, writhing desperately between Crowley’s body and his clever fingers, which were still tracing up and down Aziraphale’s cock. 

“Need me, do you?” Crowley was grinning; Aziraphale could hear it in his voice. “You know, angel, I like this. I could get used to having you lose your clever little mind for want of my cock. Bit flattering, that. Shall we pencil it in for next week again?”

“_Crowley!_ Do not think I won’t knock you back and ride you better than any horse if you don’t get your cock in me this instant!” Aziraphale had had enough. Teasing was only enjoyable when he was the one doing it.

There was a silence. Then Crowley cleared his throat. “Er, right. Can’t have that, no.” He cleared his throat again. “One unholy fuck, coming up. I’ve just got to—”

Aziraphale waited magnanimously as clothing vanished. While Crowley was making sure his jacket was folded, wherever it ended up, Aziraphale decided to follow the demon’s earlier example and experiment with a bit of self-lubrication. As sensual as it was being opened up with fingers—and how he adored Crowley’s hands—now simply was not the time.

A moment later, Crowley’s lanky form was pressed against him without the bother of clothes. It was all soft hot skin, and his cock was nudging Aziraphale’s arse insistently.

“I’m ready,” Aziraphale breathed, wiggling again in his eagerness. “Put it in, please. Put it in me.”

“_Fuck,_” Crowley whispered. “How am I supposed to hold off long enough to satisfy you when you go around saying things like that?”

“You always find a way to satisfy me,” Aziraphale sighed. He groaned with pleasure, wings trembling as Crowley pushed in. Something crashed to the floor, but he’d worry about it later. “Oh _yes_, darling, that’s just what I needed.”

“Is it?” Crowley’s voice had gone dark and soft again, although it shook, just a bit. “Tell me you like it, angel.”

“I love it.” Aziraphale squirmed, trying to get Crowley to do something. “It feels better than Heaven. If you would move, please?”

“Right,” said Crowley unsteadily. “Anything you want, angel.” He rocked his hips tentatively, and then with a bit more force when Aziraphale moaned loudly to encourage him.

“I want that,” Aziraphale panted; the strain of supporting his wings was starting to ache. “Just that, Crowley. Oh, you feel lovely.”

“So do you, you know.” Crowley was getting the hang of it now. He rolled his hips smoothly, pulling a delighted cry from Aziraphale. “_God,_ angel, I’ve thought about this. You’re even better than I’d imagined.”

Aziraphale didn’t care if they were still playing pretend or not; Crowley was hitting just the right angle now, and those graceful hands were digging into his hips as they moved together, and it was all so close to perfect. He whined again, pushing back so Crowley was pushed deeper into him. “Won’t you touch me, darling? I want to come with your hands on me.”

“I’ll bet you do.” Crowley’s delicious swagger was back. His voice warmed as he danced fingers across Aziraphale’s cock and purred, “I’d love to keep you like this all the time, angel. You feel so bloody good, I can’t even tell you.”

“Oh,” whispered Aziraphale. “It’s perfect. _You’re_ perfect, Crowley. How did I resist you for so long?”

“You’ve a terrifying force of will, angel,” said Crowley with a wet kiss to Aziraphale’s neck. “And those bastards in Heaven had you petrified.”

“Oh, don’t bring them up now.” Aziraphale groaned as Crowley’s fingers dug into his hip. “I want to think about you. Just you...”

“_Aziraphale._” Aziraphale would never tire of it, the way Crowley said his name like a prayer. That beautiful hand sped up on Aziraphale’s cock, working him closer to the edge. “I want to make it good, angel, tell me it’s good. You’re so bloody perfect, I—”

“It’s good, darling,” Aziraphale gasped. “It’s _wonderful._ You’re always so good to me, Crowley, so good—just there, now, my dear, just like that—_oh!_”

Crowley had hit an absolutely glorious angle, and that, combined with the thumb that was rubbing just under the head of his cock, had Aziraphale dangerously close to coming. His wings flapped once, nearly toppling them off the bed, but Crowley held him fast, his voice gone low and tight as he growled, “come on, angel, let me see you—”

There was nothing for it after that. Aziraphale’s entire body arched, wings shaking as he shouted his approval to God, Crowley, or whoever was just outside their window on the street below. His belly was a mess, as was Crowley’s hand, and as he came down he let out a deep, slow breath. “Crowley, my dear,” he murmured, quite beyond any other words.

“Fuck,” Crowley panted. His filthy hand left Aziraphale’s body; Aziraphale could hear obscene slurping noises behind him, and a smack where Crowley sucked his fingers. “Shit, angel, that’s good. Can’t get enough of you, Aziraphale. Want you like this all the time. All the fucking time. Thought about it for _sssso_ bloody long and you’re better than I ever could have dreamed...”

He was babbling. Aziraphale couldn’t help but be charmed, especially when Crowley began to hiss each word. He patted the hand still holding onto his waist for dear life and cast a coy look over his shoulder. “Won’t you come inside me, Crowley? I want some of you to stay even after we part.”

It was almost too easy; Crowley made a strangled sort of gurgle and promptly stilled after a shaky thrust in. He trembled against Aziraphale’s back and shoved his face into his hair. “Lord,” he whispered shakily. “You really are a menace.”

Aziraphale stretched his wings and then folded them affectionately around Crowley’s thin form. “I adore you, my darling.”

Crowley rested his sweaty forehead against the back of Aziraphale’s neck, panting little puffs of breath to tickle the hairs there. “I love you,” he said darkly. “More than anything.”

Aziraphale’s eyes slid shut; Crowley’s words were like the sweetest blade slipping into his heart. “So do I,” he whispered back. “Oh, so do I.” He settled back, enjoying the feel of their skin sliding and sticking together. It was so viscerally human.

“I’ll get your feathers like I promised,” Crowley mumbled. “Just give me a minute.”

“No rush, dear boy,” said Aziraphale with a smile. “We’ve all the time in the world.”

—

A few days later, Aziraphale paused in shifting some books from the art section into the Classics section to make them a bit harder to find when he noticed Crowley staring out the window, looking melancholy. 

“Crowley?” he called. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley glanced over. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, which struck Aziraphale as odd. “D’you know Warlock just followed me on Instagram?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Instagram? I thought that was just for food.”

“No, angel.” Crowley gave him a fond look which melted too quickly into melancholy. “I don’t know how he found me.”

That was puzzling. “Adam,” Aziraphale realized. “This has to be Adam’s doing.”

Crowley scowled. “Why would Adam push Warlock at me? They don’t even know each other.”

Aziraphale felt that was the wrong question. Adam, after all, seemed to have knowledge of many things he shouldn’t, and odd ideas about setting the world right. “How do you feel about Warlock reaching out to you?” 

Crowley glared at him. “The only good thing that boy’s ever done was tell Hastur he smelled like poo.”

“He does, rather, doesn’t he?” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose. 

“He does, but that’s beside the point. Why would I want some nasty little boy stalking me over the internet?”

“Well, he could be very sweet,” said Aziraphale fairly. “Do you remember when he picked all the hydrangeas to give to you and his mother?”

Crowley scowled. “Waste of good plants,” he muttered sullenly.

“Perhaps we should contrive to run into him,” Aziraphale suggested gently.

“Oh, fuck, he’s sent me a message,” Crowley groaned, tossing his phone aside.

Aziraphale peered at it with interest. “Why is he, er, sliding into your DMs?”

“Don’t use slang when you don’t know what it means, angel,” Crowley snapped, flinging himself out of the chair and stalking to the liquor cabinet.

Aziraphale sighed and picked up Crowley’s phone. The message displayed read: ‘Hey Nanny. You’re a guy now?’

“Aren’t you going to answer him?” Aziraphale called.

“No, I’m bloody not.” Crowley tossed back a very full glass of Scotch and then refilled it. 

“If you don’t, I will.” Aziraphale squinted at the phone, poking at it until he managed to bring up the keyboard. It was extremely difficult to type on these little keys.

“Angel, put that down!” Crowley was suddenly at his side, snatching the phone from his hands. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“A child is in need,” said Aziraphale loftily. “And you said it yourself. We’re his godfathers. Sort of.”

Crowley threw him a disgusted look before turning away with his phone. He didn’t speak, but Aziraphale saw his fingers flying across the keyboard.

Aziraphale went to fix them a pot of tea, humming smugly to himself.

“You can stop congratulating yourself,” Crowley growled at him, wandering back to the tea tray and opening the biscuits. “How am I supposed to explain anything to him? ‘Sorry, dear, I’m a demon and I thought you were the Antichrist. Terrible mistake, really, and by the way, those parents who neglect you aren’t even your real parents. Your whole bloody life is just a big cock up!’”

Aziraphale bit his lip as Crowley flung himself onto the sofa and crossed his arms. “I’m sure we can find a better way to spin it than that.”

Crowley gave him a disgusted look. “We shouldn’t have to spin it. He’s a _kid._ He’d have had a nice, normal life if it wasn’t for me.”

Oh dear. Aziraphale poured him a strong cup and, after a moment, splashed in some whisky. “You are not the only one to blame for young Warlock’s situation,” he said firmly.

“I practically raised him,” said Crowley darkly. “Half his blessed life, and I’d have killed him without a second thought.”

“That isn’t true,” Aziraphale insisted. He shoved the cup at Crowley, who took it with a scowl.

“I’d have done it,” he insisted mulishly.

“So would I,” Aziraphale pointed out. Only one of them had been holding the gun at the end of the world, after all.

Crowley glanced at him, then sipped his tea.

The light dawned. “You love him,” Aziraphale said slowly. “Crowley, why didn’t you tell me?”

“When was it supposed to come up?” Crowley snarled. He slurped his tea loudly; purely for spite, as he knew how the sound irked Aziraphale. Then he put the cup down abruptly. “Don’t you?”

Aziraphale gave a guilty start. “I’m an angel. I love everyone.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, alright,” muttered Aziraphale, squirming, “I find him terribly unpleasant, if you must know.”

“He is terribly unpleasant,” Crowley acknowledged.

Aziraphale nodded. Something horrible had just occurred to him. “Did we...raise an awful child?”

Crowley looked glum. “I think we did, yeah.”

“Shit.” Aziraphale looked down into his cup.

“Can you still fix them at age eleven?” Crowley mused. 

Aziraphale got up. He needed a biscuit for this conversation. “Even if we wanted to, he still has parents,” he reminded Crowley.

“They don’t pay attention,” Crowley scoffed.

“Harriet does,” Aziraphale countered around a biscuit. He’d grown rather sympathetic toward the woman; overhearing years of anguished one-sided phone calls out in the garden had that effect. 

Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “She had that baby to save her marriage and when nothing changed, she gave up. I’d be surprised if she doesn’t need a new liver in a few years.”

“Well, she tries.” Aziraphale sighed and went back to his tea. It was the same fantastic Assam they’d been drinking weeks ago when he’d realized how Crowley wanted him. “So has Warlock responded?”

Crowley glanced carelessly at his phone. It didn’t fool Aziraphale. “Nah. He ought to be in school this time anyway. Probably sneaking his phone in the toilet.” He sounded fond.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Perhaps this weekend we can...I don’t know, bump into them. Maybe in the park.”

“Shopping, more like.” Crowley gave Aziraphale a once-over. “You could stand an update. Those trousers aren’t doing you any favors, and I should know. I’ve seen what’s underneath.”

Aziraphale bit back a smile. “I like these trousers.”

“They come up to your armpits.”

“They do not.”

“I can live with the bow tie and the waistcoat, angel. They’re charming. But for the love of Go—someone, please at least consider a slimmer leg.”

“I’ve worn your trousers,” sniffed Aziraphale. “I’ll stick with mine, thank you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “You like watching me walk,” he said smugly.

“I like watching you try to take them off,” Aziraphale countered, smothering his grin behind his cup.

Crowley scowled. “Just wait,” he said darkly. “Someday I’m gonna catch you doing something unbearably stupid and I’m going to bring it up over and over and over and over and—”

“Oh, shut up and have a biscuit,” said Aziraphale easily.

Crowley took the offered biscuit, nibbling a bite before swallowing the rest whole. He did that sometimes, acted more the serpent than strictly necessary. 

It reminded Aziraphale of something he’d been pondering. “Do you remember when you asked me whether I thought She’d planned it like this all along?” he asked impulsively.

Crowley blinked. “Ah, vaguely. Why?”

“Because I think She did,” said Aziraphale hurriedly. “I think perhaps she realized Heaven wasn’t listening and set things in motion to thwart them.”

Crowley eyed him over his cup. “Not sure I like where you’re going with this, angel.”

“I’m not sure I do either,” admitted Aziraphale. He took another biscuit to soften the blow. “It would mean that some angels who Fell should have kept their grace, and angels who remained in Heaven don’t necessarily deserve to be there.”

Crowley stared at him. He kept staring long past the point where one of them should have spoken, and the silence grew heavier and heavier the longer he stared.

Aziraphale bit his lip.

“No,” said Crowley, very softly. He heaved himself off the sofa and set down his teacup.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale had fucked up. The tense line of Crowley’s shoulders spoke to real anger, and for the life of him, he couldn’t tell whether it was directed at him or just the point he’d been trying to make. “Darling, I’m—”

“_No,_” Crowley said again, more forcefully. “No, angel, I don’t want to hear what you were trying to do. D’you think it’s a comfort, the idea that She threw me out even though I hadn’t _done anything?_”

“I—I rather thought,” Aziraphale stuttered, “that it might be, yes. That you were still...you know. Good.”

“I know what I am,” said Crowley viciously. “It’s not fucking good, angel.”

“But you are!” Aziraphale was on his feet. “You always have been!”

“Why? Because I knew it was wrong when I carried out my orders? _How does that make me better?_”

Aziraphale swallowed, wringing his hands. “You didn’t have free will,” he protested.

“I did,” Crowley growled. “I could have refused and died. Everyone’s got that choice, we proved it.”

“Doing things under duress isn’t the same, Crowley.” Aziraphale bit his lip. “It isn’t. If you’d died, what would have been the good in that? You stayed alive, and you did good where you could. Don’t you see?” He spread his hands. “The fact that you stayed kind after so long in Hell is proof!”

“Proof of what?” Crowley spat. “Seriously, angel, of what? That all the human misery I’ve caused over the centuries doesn’t count because I wouldn’t have done it without orders? Did you see the M25, Aziraphale? People burned alive in their cars! I did that! Me! My idea.”

“They got better,” Aziraphale protested weakly.

Crowley’s withering glare made his gaze drop to his shoes. “Angel, I can’t think of a _less_ comforting idea than God putting me through hell—literally, Hell—because She felt like it. She damned me and I’ve _earned_ that damnation. Don’t try to take it away from me.”

Aziraphale’s throat felt tight. “The voice in my head that tells me something isn’t right sounds like you,” he said before he could think better of it. 

Crowley froze.

“You don’t know how long I’ve tried to ignore that,” Aziraphale admitted, finally daring to look at him. “Somewhere along the way, you became my moral compass. If I’m so holy, explain that!”

Crowley had only ever looked at him like that a handful of times. Most recently had been at the bandstand, after Aziraphale had foolishly told him it was over. He looked rather like he’d been slapped.

Aziraphale wanted to hold him, but he wasn't sure if Crowley would permit it. “My darling, I shouldn’t have said anything,” he finally ventured.

“No, you shouldn’t have,” snapped Crowley. “It doesn’t change anything. I’m still a demon and you’re still an angel, in spite of all the blessing and tempting we’ve both done over the years.”

Aziraphale sighed sadly. “Which only cements how unfair it all is.” He shook his head. “I find myself quite unable to forgive anyone who’s caused you pain, my dear. Even Her.”

Crowley reeled back, shocked, and looked up frantically as though afraid God had heard.

“Yes, I said it.” Aziraphale merely raised his chin. “And here I am,” he said. “Not Fallen. I lied right to Her, you know, when She asked what had happened to my sword.”

Crowley was staring at him, aghast. “Stop testing your luck!” he hissed. “If She changes Her mind—”

“Then I’ll still have you.” Aziraphale shrugged. “And I’ll count myself lucky for it. I’m so tired of being afraid, Crowley.”

Crowley looked stricken. “You were right to be afraid,” he whispered. “It’s awful down there.”

“I’ve seen Hell,” said Aziraphale dismissively. “It’s Heaven with a layer of grime, and as easily frightened of anything outside their narrow purview. Do you have any idea how good it felt to make _them_ fear _me_ for a change?”

“A bit, yeah.” Crowley nodded weakly. “Gabriel’s stupid panicked face.”

Aziraphale smiled. It wasn’t a nice expression. “I would have liked to have seen that. He was always so insufferably pleased with himself.”

“Not after I spat hellfire at him.” Crowley was starting to smile now.

“Well played, my dear.” Aziraphale let some of the tension out of his shoulders; it made his wings ache to be so uptight. “But you see, I let fear control me for far too long, along with my conviction that someone else knew what they were doing. If the Almighty knows, then She is unbearably cruel and we should do what we can to spread some goodness around this world. And if She doesn’t, then we shall simply have to carry on doing our best.”

“So it’s that easy?” Crowley collapsed into the nearest chair. “Water under the bridge and all that?”

“A fresh start,” Aziraphale answered, pleased. “The Earth is our home, so we’ll defend it when Heaven and Hell decide to bring out the big one. And in the meantime, we’ll tend it like a garden.”

“You were an abysmal gardener,” Crowley pointed out.

“But your plants look beautiful,” said Aziraphale. He considered another biscuit. “Do you fancy a curry for supper? That old Indian restaurant we fancied is open again.”

Crowley took the offering. “Is it? What, new ownership?”

“I believe the man’s daughter has taken over.” Aziraphale gave him a warm smile. 

“Fantastic.” Crowley picked up his phone and blinked. “Well, well. Young Warlock’s demanding I take him for ice cream.”

“I think you should,” said Aziraphale gently. “I’ll keep the boy’s mother occupied.”

Doubt flashed across Crowley’s face. “You really think it’s a good idea? I don’t really know how to talk to kids.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help it; he took Crowley’s face between his hands and kissed him. “My darling,” he breathed fondly, “you’ll do splendidly.”


End file.
